


Whispers of Winter

by Shadowmire



Series: Ancient Winds [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Friendship/Love, Pirates, Riverrun, Swords & Sorcery, Winterfell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-28
Updated: 2018-05-05
Packaged: 2019-03-24 23:06:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 63,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13821378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadowmire/pseuds/Shadowmire
Summary: Post season 7- Jaime and Brienne both flee Kings Landing and Cersei’s wrath. On their way north to Winterfell, they meet some new allies to join in the war against the Night King. Including a mysterious wizard, a lord haunted by his past, a lady trying to reclaim the honor of her house, a handsome and charming knight, and a few other old friends. There are a few original characters, but most are characters are from the books that never made it into the HBO series.





	1. Falling Down

Chapter One  
Falling Down

An icy gust of wind swept in from the north. The sky, weary of summer had turned stony and gray. Brienne missed her warm boots, she missed her gloves and especially, she missed her cloak with the fur trim. When she had fled the room she and her squire Podrick Payne had rented at the Bronze Boar Inn, in Kings Landing, the only thing she was able to grab was her valyrian steel sword, Oathkeeper.

She shivered at the memory of the last three days. The parley at the Dragonpit had been an ordeal of terror. She had heard the tales of the undead, from the Wildlings and the men of the Nights Watch at Castle Black, but she hadn’t truly understood the horror they represented. Until the Hound had unleashed the undead wight in front of the southern Queen, _How could anyone truly comprehend something like that?_ In order to understand the true horror the wight represented, it had to be seen. It appeared at first that the Southern Queen would yield and allow the north time to defeat the army of the dead. Then the King of the North, Jon Snow, refused to break his oath to the Targaryen Dragon Queen and the conference had ended. A fragile peace negotiated, only after Lord Tyrion had intervened.

So she had thought. After leaving the dragonpit she had looked for Podrick. Before the Parley had even started, her young squire had left with that coarse sell-sword turned knight, Ser Bronn of the blackwater. She assumed Podrick would be waiting at the inn, he wasn’t. She searched several of the alehouses nearby to no avail. Brienne wasn’t, really worried, Podrick had become a capable fighter and the young man had always spoken highly of Bronn. Although Brienne believed, the former sell-sword was a bad influence on the younger man. The Knight was Podrick’s friend, and she trusted her young Squire. Bronn had probably convinced Podrick to visit one of the many brothels of Kings Landing, as much as she disapproved of those types of establishments.

Brienne grudgingly went back to the Bronze Boar assuming Podrick would turn up, hung over and exhausted by morning. She would scold him for his recklessness and irresponsibly, and they could finally leave this wretched city. Hopefully, catching up to the rest of the northern delegation.

After entering their room on the third floor of the Bronze Boar, Brienne unbuckled Oathkeeper, leaning the sword against the wall. She threw her fur-trimmed cloak on a chair, and stepping over Podrick’s bedroll that lay next to the hearth. She rolled her eyes, yet another reason to scold Podrick when he returned. She walked out onto the balcony. There was a pleasant cool breeze drifting in from the northwest and the smell of the city was less loathsome than usual. She smiled and stretched, breathing in the cool night air. Leaning over the rail, she looked down at the street below. 

Brienne saw no sign of her young squire. She did however, see two Gold Cloaks in their shining bronze armor, busy accosting passersby. Strange, but not unexpected in a city under a threat of invasion. Podrick had told her before the Battle of the Blackwater, Bronn, than commander of the city watch had ordered all the known criminals rounded up and executed.

After taken off her boots and armor leaving only a loose fitting shirt and her small clothes, Brienne crawled into bed. She had just started to drift off when the door creaked. She was alert immediately. She could tell by the footsteps and the clink of armor that it wasn’t Podrick returning from a night of debauchery. Brienne laid completely still, feigning sleep until the footsteps stopped at the edge of the bed.

In an instance she was up, Oathkeeper, in one hand and the wool blanket in the other. She threw the blanket over the first attacker. Turning on him, she kicked the blinded man in the ribs, sending him flying to crash hard against the far wall. The second man froze staying out of reach of her blade. She could tell by the armor he wore that they were Gold Cloaks.

“What is the meaning of this?” she demanded leveling Oathbreaker and looking down the length of blade toward the guard. “I am the envoy of Lady Sansa Stark of Winterfell, and a guest of your Queen.”

“You are a traitor and under arrest, the queen has ordered for your ugly head on a spike,” growled the Gold Cloak.

The room darkened, behind the guard a great and menacing mass stepped into the doorframe, blocking the light from the hallway. Brienne’s large blue eyes widened as she saw the Mountain, Gregor Clegane step into the chamber. She knew she couldn’t fight that, not only did the Mountain tower over her, he was clad in full armor. Brienne felt vulnerable wearing only a loose linen shirt. As the Mountain menacingly lumbered toward her, Brienne lunged forward and grabbed the startled guard. Twisting the man’s sword arm behind his back and pinning him in a chokehold. The man had effectually become a shield between her and the Mountain. Clegane didn’t seem concerned, his dull red eyes staring straight into her while advanced. Brienne edged backwards taking the human shield with her, never taking her eyes off the Mountain and its dreadful red eyes. When she felt her leg hit the balcony, she threw the guard at Clegane. She heard an unsettling pop as the man’s neck snapped before the Mountain tossed him aside, not unlike an old ragdoll. Brienne rolled backward over the rail just as the mountain’s enormous hand reached for her neck.

Brienne landed hard on the paving stones of the street below. She rubbed her ankle to relieve the pain shooting up her left leg in waves. Above her, the Mountain’s dull red eyes glared down, before they disappeared back inside the inn. Brienne had managed to evade him, for now, but she had to move before The Mountain found his way down to the street.

The drop from the third floor had hurt, an awning had broken most of her fall, but she had obtained multiple bumps and bruises and a painful twisted ankle. She gasped at the memory of those hideous red eyes advancing on her with cold indifference. The Mountain was the Queen Cersei’s creature, only she could have ordered this attack. Fighting the pain in her ankle Brienne limped down a nearby alley. She headed for Flea Bottom, there she could easily blend in with the masses of the poor and downtrodden.

In an alley behind a rundown tenement, Brienne found, or actually to her shame, had stolen two old and worn cloaks drying in the cool night air. She ripped strips from one cloak, wrapped the bindings around her feet, which had already started to bleed from running barefoot through the back alleys of Flea Bottom. She wrapped Oathkeeper in the remaining cloth and tied the sword to her back. The other cloak was a long homespun of dark gray wool. Although worn and frayed around the edges, it had a hood that Brienne drew forward hiding her face. Keeping her head down, she limped unnoticed through the Dragon Gate and out of the city.

She nodded at the few carts and travelers that passed her along the King’s Road, blending in a best she could. After a mile or so, when the pilgrims had begun to thin out, she darted into the woods not stopping until she could no longer see the King’s Road.

Trying to avoid the King’s Road, Brienne cut through the moorlands north of Kings Landing. She had already walked for two days.

The rock outcropping where she and Podrick had agreed to meet if they were separated was only a day’s ride from the city. Walking the distance would take longer. She had limped for a whole day before the first snow began to drift down from the north. Lightly at first, the light snowflakes floated down like downy feathers, soon the ground was wet and slippery. The damp began to soak into the wool bindings wrapped around her feet.

Three days was the amount to time they had agreed to wait at the rendezvous. She knew Podrick would wait longer before heading north to Winterfell. She could make it if she kept waking, no time to eat or sleep. Her ankle was throbbing painfully, she tried to take her mind off the pain by concentrating on the path ahead.

By evenfall the snow was falling heavy, the chill in the air viciously bite at her face and fingers. Brienne sneezed three times, wiping her noise on the rough wool cloak. Her breathing became shallow. Pressure began to build between her nose and eyes and her head was throbbing, as if the hooves of a thousand horses were charging through her skull. Her gut felt empty and raw, like a leather scraper had racked over her stomach.

Brienne knew she was sick, and the creatures she saw prowling in the darkness were but hallucinations. That didn’t matter for they still terrified her. She saw all manner of skulking beast in the snowy haze; wights, giant ice spiders and war hounds with glowing red eyes crept through the snowflakes, mashing their jaws at her before creeping back into the shadows. Ignoring the hallucinations as best she could she stubbornly limped forward.

_When I reach the rendezvous,_ she thought to herself, _Pod will be there with hot strew and a warm blanket._ Maybe he even managed to make it back to the inn and collected her armor and cloak. She refused to let any other thoughts enter her mind. She knew if she let those feelings in, she would succumb to despair. She might as well let the creatures lurking in the snow devour her. She just had to keep walking. After a time she thought she heard a horse’s neigh, or was that just another figment of her delirium? She ignored it and kept walking.

“Boy,” a voice drifted on the wind and into her ears, “what are you doing out here alone in this weather?”

The voice was familiar, it seemed to be a part of her, but she couldn’t place it. She shook her head trying to clear the fuzziness.

She felt a large presence beside her, _another apparition of the fever?_ She tried to ignore it, but this one was radiating heat. _A Dragon? Don’t look at it,_ she stubbornly said to herself.

Then the delusion whinnied, startled by the accuracy of the hallucination she looked up, her hood falling backward reveling her frozen upturned face. The aberration looking down at her from the phantom horse was Jaime Lannister.

“Brienne what are you doing out here alone?” Jaime gasped, sliding from the horse he grasped her by the shoulders. She looked up into his emerald green eyes they looked so real.

_I’m dying_ she thought to herself, _at least his is the last face I will see, even if he isn’t real._

“Jaime?” she sighed before she fainted.


	2. Delirium

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne is forced to recover from a serious illness. She meets a woman even more stubborn than she is.

Chapter Two  
Delirium

Brienne dreamed. She dreamed of Jaime Lannister dapping icy sweat from her brow with a warm damp cloth. She dreamed he helped her sit up, forcing her to swallow a tasteless soup. She dreamed he spoke soothing words and held her hair away from her face as her stomach rebelled against the flavorless broth.

Brienne also dreamed of Lady Sansa. A woman with Auburn hair made her drink foul smelling Liquid. A gentle voice telling her she was doing well and would, “soon be fully recovered.”

Brienne awoke in a warm bed, a mountain of fur pelts piled high on top of her. A warm fire crackled and popped in a hearth across the small room. A single figure slumped in a chair looked into the flames. When she stirred, the man turned around with concern written in his eyes.

“Finally awake?” asked a haughty yet familiar voice.

“Jaime, you’re…. you’re real?” She stuttered. A purple haze surrounded her vivid blue eyes, which she rubbed with the palm of her hands.

“What? Of course I’m real you ridiculous wench,” he laughed, walking over to her bed.

“Where am I?” she demanded trying to free herself from the pile of furs.

Jaime placed his hands on her shoulders and gently pushed her back down. “Oh no you don’t, you’re not well enough to move.”

She glared at him stubbornly, “let me be the judge of rather I am well enough ...,” her body rebelled and as if to prove her statement false, she involuntarily sneezed.

“I found you roaming around the moorlands,” Jaime told her, “in a haze, and barely dressed, you need to rest.”

“Pod?” Brienne panicked, before the blackness overtook her and she passed out again.

-oOo-

The next time Brienne awoke Jaime sat on the side of the bed looking down at her. When he saw she was awake, a warm smile spread across his handsome face, his green eyes vivid in the dim light of the small room.

“Your fever has finally broken, you gave me quite the scare.” He said, “What in the seven hells were you thinking? Where is the rest of your party?”

 _Too many questions!_ Brienne looked at up at him with a confused stare. Jaime gave her time to collect her thoughts.

“Clegane, the Mountain,” she shivered, “he tried to kill me, I barely escaped.” Brienne stiffened at the memory of the mad giant advancing toward her, one massive hand reaching for her throat.

“I barely escaped,” she repeated with a shudder.

Jaime looked down at her, a mixture of concern and rage glowed in his emerald green eyes. “When did this happen?”

Brienne sat up and drawing her legs up to her chest and resting her arms and head across her knees, “The night of the parley, I couldn’t find Pod.” Brienne told Jaime how after looking for her squire and Bronn to no avail, she had returned to the inn alone.

“If he’s with Bronn, he’s safe, and a little depravity shouldn’t harm the lad, much,” Jaime chuckled.

“But the night of the parley?” Jaime’s voice turned angry, “I hadn’t told Cersei I was leaving yet. She had no reason to send the Mountain to kill you.”

Brienne looked at Jaime confused, _why would she be angry he was leaving? Hadn’t she promised to send forces north to help defeat the Night King?_

“She did this to punish me, before I had even left” Jaime snarled.

“But why?...and how would killing me punish you?” Brienne finally asked.

“Because you are my friend… and you are...important to me.” Jaime’s voice cracked.

Turning around to face her, they locked eyes. Her eyes, it wasn’t just the deep blue color that mesmerized him, it was what lay inside those radiant blue sapphires, her innocence and bravery, her honor and loyalty. When he looked at her, he saw a true knight, what he had once been, when he was young and idealistic. Before Mad King Aerys. When the rest of the world called you Kingslayer and oath breaker it was hard to believe otherwise.

Only Brienne saw an honorable knight when she looked at him. Her trust in him could almost make Jaime believe that he could be something different, something better, that he might once again be a true knight.

“But why would she do that?” Brienne asked, “Didn’t she send you north?”

“No, she lied, to me, to everyone,” Jaime said angrily, “she never intended to send the army north. But I made a promise, and I intend to keep it, with or without the Lannister army.”

Jaime looked away sadly and said so quietly Brienne almost didn’t hear, “Cersei called me a traitor and commanded the Mountain kill me.”

Brienne gasped placing her long fingers over his left hand in sympathy. She knew the fear the Mountain could instill in even the bravest of souls.

Eventually the memory of that night came into focus, Brienne gasped, “Wait… Pod, if we became separated we were supposed to rendezvous outside of the city, how long have I been out?”

“Over a week my lady, the healer of this village…actually a wood witch, said you might not survive.” Jaime said, “But I knew you were too stubborn to succumb to the flux.”

“A week?” Brienne shuttered, _had it really been so long?_

“How long do you suppose the lad will wait?” Jaime asked.

“We agreed on three days, but knowing Pod he probably waited longer, but a week!” Brienne shook her head.

Jaime saw the concern in her eyes, “If he’s with Bronn, he’s the safest person in the seven kingdoms. I wouldn’t worry.”

Jaime smiled and performed his best knightly bow, “And I just happen to be heading to Winterfell.” 

Taking her long fingers in his good hand he brushed his lips against the back of her hand, “would you care to be my travelling companion once again, my lady?”

Brienne quickly pulled her hand away, a red hue rising on her cheeks making every freckle on her face stand out. “As long as it goes better than the last time we were traveling companions,” she said dryly.

A delightful sly smile arose on Jaime’s lips. “Did you just made a joke?” He hadn’t expected that, she was usually so serious.

“I can make jokes” she replied dryly.

Brienne tossed her legs over the side of the mattress and tried to stand. She immediately fell back onto the bed, “You’re still weak, maybe a few more days rest.” Jaime said in alarm.

She ignored his objections and managed to stand on her second attempt. The old linen shirt Brienne wore hung loosely on her shattered body. A week of suffering had left her body and spirit drained. Once Brienne had stood like a brick wall, now she was little more than a bent thin post.

“Don’t worry,” Jaime smiled, “A week or two of healthy eating and exercise and you will be back in fighting form.”

“There is no time,” Brienne, growled weakly.

“Brienne,” Jaime warned sternly.

“I’m fine-,” She stubbornly replied.

“No, you are not,” a gentle, but firm voice interrupted their argument.

Brienne turned and saw a short woman with disheveled auburn hair and a round face enter the room. The woman carried a large pack. She might have looked like Lady Sansa, if not for her short stature, and large brown eyes. She was also considerably older than the Lady of Winterfell, maybe in her late thirties or forties. The woman walked up to Brienne with her hands on her hips and looked up sternly into the taller woman’s face.

“I’m fine,” Brienne stubbornly repeated ignoring the woman’s glare.

The woman laughed and took a surprisingly firm hold on Brienne’s arm and lead her back to the bed, “don’t try being stubborn with me young lady,” the old woman scolded, “I was raised by the most stubborn women in all of Westeros…you are not them.”

“…and who are you,” Brienne asked, “You’re no Maester.”

“No, this village is too small for a Maester, I’m a simple wood witch,” the woman replied, “You can call me Tala.”

“Well Tala….” Brienne said, “I can assure you that I am fi-.”

Brienne wasn’t able to continue her speech, before Tala pushed her back down onto the bed and pile the furs on top of her.

“Hush now, dear,” Tala said kindly, pulled several vials out of her pack and forcing Brienne to swallow a foul smelling mixture. “A few more days are all I ask, and it will give your husband the chance to properly prepare for your journey.”

"He is not my husba-," Brienne tried to reply.

"Shh, not my business dear," Tala said patting her hand, "rest now."

While Brienne rested, Jaime bought clothes, leather armor, warm boots and a dark fur lined cloak to replace the one Brienne had lost. They also needed another horse. The only mount Jaime could find in the small village was a dark brown rouncey with a white crescent moon marking between its eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is always appreciated.


	3. Memories in Ice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime and Brienne start their journey North.

Chapter Three  
Memories in Ice

As dawn broke through the misty eastern sky, Jaime and Brienne silently rode away from the small moorland village. The weather finally decided to cooperate and the first few days only a light breeze saturated the air with icy cold fingers, otherwise the weather was still and calm.

They made good time, even though Brienne’s rouncey struggled to keep pace with Jaime’s swift and powerful Palfrey. At noon on the third day, they stopped by a small stream to water the horses.

“Poor old guy,” Brienne said to the old rouncey, tenderly brushing the horse’s long neck.

Jaime smiled as he watched the interaction between horse and rider. Brienne seemed to care for every living creature. Rather it be a broken down and disgraced knight or a broken down old horse that had seen better days.

“Where are we?” Brienne asked turning around to look at the knight.

“Somewhere Southeast of Harrenhall,” Jaime replied looking to the west. Brienne shuddered at the memory of that doomed castle.

“At least we not being chased by Boltons this time,” Brienne shuddered.

“No, just Lannisters,” Jaime relied dryly.

Brienne shot him a look filled with concern.

“Cersie wasn’t pleased when I left her side,” Jaime answered her unspoken question, “she undoubtedly has the whole Lannister army out searching for me.”

“Then we should keep moving, the faster we get north the safer we will be,” Brienne said patting her horse’s neck again before mounting the old steed.

“Lannisters in the south, White Walkers and Starks in the north. Is anyplace safe?” Jaime mused.

Brienne swallowed, looking first south and then north. _Was there a place anywhere that was safe?_ She thought of her home on Tarth, if they failed to defeat the Night King, would Tarth be safe? Could the White Walkers even reach the sapphire island? Jon Snow had said the wights couldn’t swim, _but could they row?_ Would her home and her father be safe?

They rode for an hour before reaching a stone arched bridge. The same bridge had haunted Brienne’s nightmares for years. Locke and the forces of House Bolton had captured them so long ago on that stone bridge. The similarities between now and the last time they had travelled together made Brienne shiver.

Brienne looked down at the reigns in her hands scratching at a loose piece of leather, “I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you better.”

”No, it was me” Jaime said walking up to Brienne, standing a little to close and running a hand down her face, “my own vanity got us captured and you almost raped and it’s the reason Locke cut of my hand. If I hadn’t tried to outwit Locke-.”

“You saved me,” Brienne interrupted him.

“…And you saved me,” Jaime sighed, _in so many ways, _he thought as he squeezed her shoulder in a poor attempt at comfort.__

They didn’t dare speak as the rode across the stone bridge. They looked around nervously at every sound emanating from the forest. When they finally reached the Northern bank of the river, they both were visibly shaken. Flicking their horse’s reins, they drove their mounts into the forest, not stopping until they were well away from the road and the bridge.

Jaime dismounted first and rushed to Brienne’s side. Reaching up he helped her down from her horse before taking her in his arms. She rested her head on his shoulder. They were both trembling. Jaime stroked the back of her hair all the while whispering soothing words into her ear.

After a few minutes the trembling ebbed, Jaime placed a soft kiss in her hair behind her left ear. Moving his head to look into her eyes, he ran a figure down the side of her face.

“Are you okay?” he asked looking into her eyes.

“Yes,” she stuttered, “but let us get as far away from that damned bridge as possible.”

“Agreed,” replied Jaime.

They continued on their journey in silence. Brienne couldn’t help staring at the back of Jaime’s golden blond head, while he rode his black palfrey slightly ahead of her. Had he really kissed her? Had she imagined it? Was the kiss a mere act of kindness for a frightened friend? Jaime obviously valued their friendship, he had said as much himself.

Brienne convinced herself not to read too much into the tender kiss. Jaime was the most beautiful man she had ever seen and Brienne was well aware of what she looked like. Tall and awkward, her mouth was too wide and her nose had been broken, more than once. Her figure was hardly feminine with wide shoulders and tiny breasts. She was not the type of woman men, especially men like Jaime found attractive. Cersei was beautiful, cunning and powerful, everything Brienne wasn’t. Brienne convinced herself that thinking the kiss meant anything was foolish. Yet she couldn’t help remembering the tender kiss fondly.

Jaime riding slightly ahead could feel the wenches’ eyes on his back. He knew she was confused about the kiss. He hadn’t meant to kiss her, she was in his arms and it just seemed like the right thing to do at the time. She hadn’t knocked him to the ground when he had gently kissed her hair. He thought, maybe that was a good sign. He smiled pleasantly thinking about the kiss and her reaction. 

-oOo-

Winter angrily returned on the fourth day, an icy wind nipped at their faces and the temperature dropped. As the sun started its slow descent into the western sky, the two companions looked for a campsite to for the night. They found a likely spot near a cliff-face that offered some protection from the cold wind blowing in from the north.

Brienne laid her bedroll between the fire and the cliff and sat down. She was startled when Jaime laid his bedroll down uncomfortably close to hers and then he sat down next to her wrapping his cloak around the both of them and huddling close.

“It’s going to be colder tonight,” he replied to the unspoken question, “It will be warmer if we sleep close. Even the men of the Nights Watch sleep close when it’s this cold.” 

“How do you know what the men of the Nights Watch do?” Brienne scoffed.

“Tyrion told me,” Jaime smiled at her, “when he was young he was obsessed with the Nights Watch, if you can imagine that.”

Brienne responded, “That is quite hard to imagine.”

“Oh yes, it was a short phase for sure, it lasted only a month or so, he read everything he could about the Nights Watch, talked about grumpkins and snarks, and all the other monsters that lurk beyond the Wall to no end. You couldn’t get him to shut up about it.”

Jaime smiled remember this childhood at Casterly Rock. “For a while, father even seem to encourage it, which didn’t help. I believed he might actually try to join the Nights Watch when he was old enough.”

“What happened, why didn’t he?”

“He discovered maidens?” Jaime laughed, winking at her.

Brienne nodded she had heard the rumors about Lord Tyrion’s proclivities.

“Pod and Lady Sansa said he was always kind to them,” Brienne finally said poking at the fire with a stick, “Yet the rest of the Seven Kingdoms say men like your brother are degenerates and immoral.”

“There are no men like Tyrion, only Tyrion.” Jaime replied looking to up at the stars.

“You really admire your brother don’t’ you?” Brienne asked looking up at Jaime.

Jaime didn’t answer at first. He still hated that Tyrion had killed their father, but he no longer blamed him. Tyrion had been persecuted his entire life for the sole reason of being born a dwarf. His worst tormentors had been Cersei and their father. Yet Tyrion had somehow managed to become more honorable then all of the beautiful Lannisters. 

After Joffrey’s death, Cersei accused Jaime of, _always pitying our poor little brother._ She was wrong he didn’t pity Tyrion. Jaime loved his little brother. However, admiration, did he admire his brother? Jaime looked at Brienne, amazed how this mere child of Tarth could always see through the walls he had built up around his soul.

“Yes, I do,” Jaime admitted simply.

They sat quietly for a few minutes looking up at the stars. Until Brienne spoke again, “Each evenfall, my father always used to say, ‘another day done and who knows what the morrow will bring us.’ it seems applicable to our current situation.”

“Yes it does,” Jaime responded and wrapped his arm around her waist as he snuggled close to Brienne’s side.


	4. Crimson Soldiers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cersei isn't about to let Jaime leave. In this Chapter Jaime and Brienne are hunted through the Riverlands.

Chapter Four  
Crimson Soldiers

Brienne awoke with a hand gently shaking her shoulder. She opened her eyes and saw Jaime kneeling beside her. The knight brought his finger to his lips and pointed off to the west. She froze, listening to the sound of the awakening forest, and then she heard it, voices and the subtle clink of armor, still in the distance, heading in their direction. Jaime and Brienne silently gathered their provisions and then lead their horses in the opposite direction.

They stayed off the road but it was soon apparent that several detachments of soldiers were patrolling the woods. Now and again, they caught glimpses of crimson armor.

They managed had avoided the patrols only through luck and cunning. Although they were herded off their path, by avoiding the patrols, they were forced ever westward toward the raging Tumblestone River.

Their luck ran out while trying to avoid a patrol searching the western branch of a tributary of the Tumblestone. They ran straight into the path of another patrol of crimson clad Lannister infantry. It surprised both the predators and the prey. The Soldiers looked confused at first, they had not expected their quarry simply to run into their path.

“Ser Jaime,” a young and startled soldier finally stuttered, “we have been ordered to escort you back to Kings Landing.”

Jaime counted ten men, Lannister infantry in distinctive crimson plate armor. They were trapped. Jaime was not the swordsman he had once been, before the loss of his sword hand. His reflexes were off. Even though Jaime and Bronn had trained in left-handed combat, he had never fully regained all his skills.

He might be able to take on one or two of the soldiers, which left eight for the maid. Without a doubt, Brienne was an amazing swordswomen, but even she would be hard-pressed to defeat eight trained warriors. These were Lannister men, as Lord Commander of the Lannister army, like his father before him, Jaime knew these men would be well trained and disciplined.

Jaime felt a twinge of remorse even thinking about killing the soldiers. Until recently, they had been his men, a few no more than mere boys. He had fought alongside them against the Unsullied, the Dothraki hoard and their Targaryen Queen and her dragon. He didn’t want Brienne hurt, but he didn’t want to kill these men either

“Okay, let us just calm down. We don’t want to do anything stupid.” Jaime said, resigned to his fate and trying to prevent a needless slaughter, “you have me, just let Lady Brienne go.”

“Jaime, no…” Brienne gasped and pulled on his arm.

“I’m sorry Ser,” the soldier said, “The Queen has ordered your return and your ladies head on a spike.”

Jaime looked at the soldiers, ten men who were once loyal to him, “How many can to take?” he whispered to Brienne.

“Enough!” Brienne grunted, drawing Oathkeeper from its scabbard. The red ripples that flowed through the dark steel flashed in the morning air.

The soldiers drew their weapons as well and rushed forward. Brienne shouted as she swung Oathkeeper opening a gash through the neck of the nearest man. A movement to her left alerted her to danger and she swung around in time to kick the soldier sending him crashing backwards into his companions.

Beside her, Jaime was using his sword, Widow’s Wail to fend off two crimson clad soldiers, who were little more than boys. Jaime noted the concern on their young faces. Either fear of Cersei’s wrath, if they harmed him or loyalty to their former Lord Commander was constraining their attacks. _They are only trying to wear me down,_ he realized. Jaime had an advantage he otherwise wouldn’t have had, instead of defending he was able to push his attacks.

Brienne dodged a savage overhead blow. Having missed his intendent target the soldier staggered forward awkwardly. In an instance, Brienne swept Oathkeeper downward decapitating the soldiers arm. The man staggered backward crying out in pain and clutching the shattered limb.

Turning quickly, Brienne swung Oathkeeper in a swift arc. The soldier looked up just in time to see Brienne’s sword slash a wide opening between his eyes splitting both helmet and head beneath.

No sooner had Brienne turned than another soldier was closing in on her. She hooked her foot around the man’s leg sending him lurching forward. A quick elbow between the soldier’s shoulders blades knocked him to the ground, giving Brienne time to swing Oarthkeeper around too slice a large slash down the abdomen the man on her left. The young man stood in stunned silence looking at the gaping gash in his chest before he collapsed.

A little older and more experienced warrior managed to dodge Brienne’s swift attack and kicked her hard in the gut knocking her onto her back. As the man strode forward, sword in hand, Brienne drew a large dagger from her boot and jammed it into the man’s groin. He staggered backward falling to his knees as tissue and fluids poured out of the wound.

Without heavy armor, Brienne was able to jump up immediately and block the attack of the last standing Lannister soldier, stalking her on the right. The man was gaining the upper hand when his eyes suddenly went wide. Jaime had come up behind him, laying his golden hand on the man’s shoulder. The Crimson clad warrior quickly turned and came face-to-face with his former commander.

“I’m sorry…” Jaime said solemnly, before pushing his blade upward though a gap in the man’s armor and into the soldiers ribs.

“Commander…?” the man rasped before he dropped to the ground.

Jaime looked down at the dying man, _Its either you are her, and it will always be her._

The battle won, the two companions stood in a circle of dead and dying Crimson warriors.

“They were Lannister men,” Brienne breathed heavily, looking at Jaime’s devastated face.

“I don’t serve the Lannisters anymore,” he looked at her with anger in his eyes, “and I don’t’ serve Cersei.”

Yet behind the rage, she also saw the sorrow in his eyes. He was mortified that he had helped in the slaughter of Lannister soldiers. Men he had commanded in battle, men who had trusted him with their lives.

Brienne put her hands on his shoulders and tried to shake the regret away, looking straight into his eyes. “It’s okay… It’s okay to morn them.”

They leaned together their foreheads touching, eyes locked together, “Let’s get out of here,” Jaime finally said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am no longer stuck on the next chapter, Thanks to everyone that answered my questions. I decided it would take to long to ask the other author if I could reference his story. After racking my brains I decided to draw inspiration from the original source, (The books) I opened up Storm of Swords to find some inspiration, and got it on the very first page I opened. (No Kidding the very first page.) No spoilers but I should have Chapter 5 done soon, I only had to rewrite a couple of paragraphs.


	5. The gallant Knight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trapped in a dark mysterious tower while a blizzard roars outside. Jaime and Brienne share more stories.

Chapter Five  
The gallant Knight

Jaime and Brienne forded the Tumblestone River as dusk engulfed the horizon in a rose-colored haze. They saw no any sign of Lannister patrols on the north side of the great river. The soldiers had concentrated their search further south.

They crossed the wind swept plain that bordered the north side of the Tumblestone under a blanket of darkness. In summer, tall grass and wildflowers covered the open grassland. However, winter had come, and the meadow became a wasteland of drifting snow and icy wind.

The open lea offered no cover and they couldn’t risk making camp until they reached the protection of the dense forest beyond the grasslands. It was well after midnight when they finally made the tree line.

The next morning, the sun rose like soft fingers of warmth radiating over the eastern plain. As they readied their horses, Brienne noticed the sun’s gaze warming her face.

“It’s warmer today,” she said, smiling up at the cloudless morning sky.

“Don’t think you’re getting out of our nightly cuddling,” Jaime winked at her. 

Speechless, Brienne blushed and turned away, refusing to look at him.

He chuckled at her uneasiness, he enjoyed teasing the wench, but the truth was he had enjoyed their nights together, just holding her. It gave him a sense of security he never had with his sister and lover Cersei. He always had to sneak out of Cersei chamber in the middle of the night, after their lovemaking. Jaime had grown accustomed to waking each morning with Brienne in his arms. _With woman I loved in my arms,_ he mused.

The realization washed over him like the raging Tumblestone. Did he truly love Brienne of Tarth? Jaime knew he cared for her. He enjoyed her company. He enjoyed teasing her and making her blush. He enjoyed her innocence, her sense of duty, her loyalty and unflinching honor.

He respected the calm way she spoke even in the tensest situations, Unlike Cersei, Brienne never raised her voice or screamed in fury. Except in battle, only then did Brienne became a creature of ferocity and passion, shouting at the top of her lungs while she cut her enemies down.

Brienne wasn’t Beautiful. Compared to Cersei, Brienne was oafish and awkward. Nevertheless, his body had responded to hers. He had become aroused in the baths at Harrenhal and more recently as he lay awake at night holding her in his arms. Jaime respected her too much to pursue these impulses. He believed she was too innocent and pure, too good for a failed and broken knight.

-oOo-

The dense forest was a maze of trees and frozen pools. Glaze ice coated the tall trees transforming the forest into an ethereal realm of ice and snow. The sound of crackling ice and the taunt of the wind blowing against the tall trees followed them through the thick forest. The occasional snap of a crystal branch collapsing under the weight of its coating of ice echoed in the still morning air.

Jaime’s horse went down first, horse and rider sliding into the cold icy bog. Brienne reined her old rouncey too late, the icy surface of the swamp complained with a cackle. She looked down as the icy surface broke, like the shattering of a wine glass. Brienne and her horse followed Jaime into the thick stew of ice and mud. 

Encased in freezing sludge Jaime reached for Brienne and together they pulled themselves free of the icy mire. They couldn’t save the horses, the animals kicked and struggled in the freezing mud. Shrill squeals echoed through the forest as the horses sunk below the icy swamp.

The first snows began to fall as the couple staggered through a silvery haze. Their wet clothes clung to their frozen bodies and they held on to each other, body heat taking away very little of the icy chill. Through a veil of agitated snow, a dark tower appeared in the distance.

Jaime and Brienne reached the abandoned tower house just as the sun sunk below the western sky. The tower was old, great cracks fragmented its surface and wore away at its base. Frozen vines laced around the stone rough-hewn walls. Crystal cords binding the tower and holding it upright. The structure wasn’t tall, although it might have once been. The stone and mortar on upper floors had yielded to the weather and time, only the first floor remained intact.

Dust and cobwebs decorated the interior of the keep. The main floor consisted of a single large chamber. A hearth on the east side of the room didn’t look large enough to heat the entirety of the space. Jagged stairs rose to the second floor, mostly collapsed. A trapdoor near the fireplace led to the basement of the tower.

Near the hearth, a matted and dusty fur rug sprawled across the floor. Pushed against the wall near the hearth sat a worn straw-stuffed mattress on a wood pallet. One corner of the large room appeared to have once been an apothecary, broken vials and earthen jars lined the shelves and floor.

“Where do you think the people went?” Brienne asked.

“It’s been deserted for some time, probably sense the war, killed by Lannisters or Starks or raiders,” Jaime replied, “or they just fled and never returned.”

Brienne gathered wood from the broken furniture and piled it in the fireplace, lighting a small fire that did little to take away the cold.

“We need to get out of these wet clothes, or we will both get sick.” Jaime said as he looked around the open space. He found a pile of old clothing heaped in the corner of the large chamber.

Brienne gave him accusatory look.

“Relax your virtue is safe, at least for tonight,” Jaime winked, causing her blush bright red. Jaime chucked at her innocence.

“Wash off all that mud and put that on,” Jaime said tossing her a dress he found in the pile of crumpled old clothes. The dress may have once been blue but now seemed to be a shade closer to gray.

Jaime turned his back and started undressing. Brienne look at him for a moment and then down at the threadbare dress, she turned around and pealed of her mud soaked clothes.

When Jaime turned around, he wore an oversized peasant’s shirt and breeches. As he tied the string around the waist, he looked up at Brienne. He was amazed that a dress could be both too big and too small at the same time.

The sleeves were short. Brienne pushed them up over her elbows so the dress would look slightly less ridicules. A vain effort, the skirt was too short stopping well above her ankles. Everything else about the dress was too large, hanging loosely around her chest and hips. The square neck was so wide it kept falling over Brienne’s shoulder. She tried a wide strip of linen around her waist, which helped a little. Below the makeshift belt the skirt hung in lose folds around Brienne’s calves.

The bodice of the dress was so wide that Jaime could see her small breast whenever Brienne bent over to feed the fire. When she noticed Jaime looking, she put her arm up holding the bodice in place.

“You’re no fun,” he laughed.

“Quiet,” She hissed back at him. Her response only made Jaime laugh harder. He lay down on the straw mattress and chuckled every time she looked his way.

There was a small amount of dried meat in the single pack they had managed to save before the horses sunk below the mud and ice. Jaime and Brienne sat down on the matted rug in front of the roaring fire to eat a meager meal of jerky and icy water.

“So,” Jaime said, “we might be here awhile, we should get to know each other.”

Brienne looked up at him and rolled her eyes, he was in a chatting mood again. She was never very good at small talk and couldn’t understand why he always felt the need to talk constantly.

“I’m Jaime Lannister, of Casterly Rock,” he smirked over at her.

“I know who you are,” Brienne relied insipidly not getting the inference.

Jaime laughed, It was hopeless she was never in the mood for small talk. Jaime smiled slyly as he began to hum a light tune. Soon the words of the old song began take shape on his lips.

“My featherbed is deep and soft,  
and there I’ll lay you down,  
I’ll dress you all in…a blue silk…”

Brienne’s mouth dropped, had he deliberately changed the words from yellow silk to blue? Had he not told her once blue was her color. She shook her head, more likely the ballad was sung differently in the Westerlands?

“For you shall be my lady love,  
and I shall be your lord.  
I’ll always keep you warm and safe,  
and guard you with my sword.”

“Hmm…,” Brienne sighed, “I loved that song, when I was a little girl.”

“Did you now?” a smile playing over Jaime’s lips as he stared into the roaring fire.

“I was no different than other young girl,” she replied defensibly, “I loved hearing stories of gallant knights and fair maidens.”

“Those stories always end with a kiss.” Jaime laughed.

“They do.” Brienne had to chuckle. Those stories were all the same, the innocent young maiden rescued from a witch/monster/evil relative, by a gallant young knight, who received a single kiss for his trouble. It really didn’t seem fair to the knight.

“Did you ever dream of being rescued and kissed by a gallant young knight?”

“Of course, most young girls do,” She looked down at her hands and sighed, “Until my septa… Septa Roelle, told me I was too ugly to be a maiden in song.”

An intense rage at the cruel septa filled Jaime’s heart, _who would do that to a child?_

Brienne had grown up believing she wasn’t worth saving. No wonder she had trained so hard. If no one would rescued her, she would do so herself.

After a long pause, Jaime whispered, “I rescued you.”

“What?” She asked, not sure if she had heard him. 

Jaime coughed and repeated his statement a little louder, “I rescued you from a bear.”

“You did,” Brienne acknowledged his statement he had rescued her. 

She sat still, looking at her hands in silent contemplation, before she suddenly leaned over and kissed him lightly on the cheek.

Surprised by the unexpected kiss, Jaime turned his head, their lips brushed for a second before Brienne pulled away and sat back down smiling at him. Jaime was both surprised and delighted.

“What was that for?” He asked.

“I owned you a kiss,” she smiled shyly before looking away her cheeks burning.

“You’re a little late,” Jaime laughed, reaching out with his left hand he drew his knuckles down the right side of her face. Moving his hand to her chin, he tilted her head up and looked into her eyes, lost in their endless blue seas. Jaime leaned over pausing only when their lips were less than an inch apart, their breath mingled together. Finally, he tenderly kissed her lips.

Brienne was speechless and when she finally regained enough composure. Ask shyly, “why…?”

“Interest,” he smiled pleasantly.

They fell silent after that, both nervous of where the conversation might lead. The whisper of the winter winds outside the only sound to shatter the quiet.

Finally, Jaime got up and laid down on the bed. When he saw Brienne looking nervously at him, he arrogantly said “Calm down, you’re safe wrench, I’m your gallant young knight” he then chuckled, “and its cold, come to bed.”

She reluctantly laid down, her back to him, she brought her legs up to her chest and curling into a tight ball, Jamie laid his arm over her waist and pulled her close. He felt her body shutter in his embrace.

For the first time he felt bad for teasing her. He tenderly whispered in her ear, “don’t worry, I would never do anything to hurt you.”

“And if you do?” Brienne asked.

“You have my permission to punch me in the arm,” He laughed.

“I’ll do more than that! I’ll knock you on your ass.”

“I know you will,” he said sleepily, rubbing his nose in the hair.

Brienne lay awake until she heard his gentle snores. Finally relaxing she drifted off to sleep.

-oOo-

The next morning when Brienne awoke Jaime was gone. A wave of guilt rushed over her. Did Jaime think she was in love with him? Was he disgusted? Was he mortified to think such an ugly woman felt anything for him? She wished she had never kissed him. She hadn’t asked to for rescued!

She looked around the large room. His warm cloak was gone. The finer clothes he had worn from Kings Landing still dried near the hearth. The one pack they had managed to save still sat on the table.

A few minutes later the door rattled open and Jaime appeared covered in snow. His arms were full of firewood and over his shoulder hung a large rabbit.

“I found a rabbit warren by the woodpile,” he said happily, “As least we won’t starve.”

When he saw the troubled look on her face, he quickly put the wood and the rabbit down and rushed to her side.

“What’s wrong?” he asked looking into her eyes.

“I thought you had left,” she said quietly.

“Why would I leave?” He asked.

Brienne just shrugged and looked away ashamed of her insecurities.

“Oh, you ridiculous wench,” he said pulling her into an embrace, “even if I wanted to leave without you… which I don’t. It’s a damn blizzard out there! We are trapped here, at least for the time being.”

Brienne sniffed a couple times, and nodded.

“I’m not leaving you…ever again,” he said rubbing her shoulders, “now how about you clean that rabbit, I want to look around this place and see if they left anything useful behind.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well Chapter five was quite the dilemma, I wanted to show how Brienne would feel If she let it slip that she was in love with Jaime. Having her Imagine that Jaime would be disgusted if he Knew how she felt. I originally thought of Brienne telling Jaime her side of the story Jamy LanEaster: Knight in Shining Armor, by LiteratiGreek (If you haven’t read it, you should it’s really sweet.) But I didn’t know how to get in touch with LiteratiGreek to ask if I could use it. I was afraid asking him/her if I could borrow the idea, might take a long time. So I decided to go back to the source, I pick up Storm of Swords, and the page I opened too had the feather bed song, (Yes it was an Arya chapter). I figured the song might be popular in Westeros and Brienne could have heard when she was little. I liked the chapter better, because with the song it’s shorter, this chapter was a little long the way it was. I hope you all enjoy chapter 5, it was the hardest one to write so far.


	6. The Last Summer Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trapped in a mysterious keep, Brienne and Jaime must wait out a Blizzard.

Chapter Six  
The Last Summer Rain

The wind hissed and roared like a cornered lion. The blizzard had laid siege to the ancient tower, Jaime and Brienne couldn’t leave the lonely and desolated keep until the weather broke.

Exploring the second level of the tower proved a hazardous task. The upper floors of the tower had collapsed in on themselves, loose stone and old mortar littered the floor. Jaime picked through the graveyard of castoff fragments of the previous inhabitants lives.

He wasn’t expecting to find much left behind in the crumbing remains of the second floor. Scavengers had picked through the ancient keep long ago. In a smashed cabinet, Jaime found a few stubs of tallow candles, a sewing kit and some old linen. He smiled when he found a faded pink rag-toy lion, in the broken remains of a child’s toy chest.

Snowdrifts covered the third floor in a carpet of white. Jaime looked up at two more levels hovering above his head. The ceiling had collapsed leaving the tower a jagged flue open to the elements.

Jaime climbed back down to the first level and gave the toy lion to Brienne, who only scoffed at him and put the toy aside. Only when she thought he wasn’t watching did she pick up the small toy, a slight smile played across her lips.

Lighting one of the candles stubs, Jaime ventured down the old and decaying steps to the cellar. He hoped the underground room would prove more fruitful then the upper levels.

It at first it appeared he had were out of luck. The dark and dusty space was empty except for a few smashed barrels. When the torch flickered slightly, Jaime realized there was a draft. Upon further investigation, he found a dark egress in the wall behind several shattered barrels.

Jaime’s golden hand seemed to disappear as he reached into darkness. The hairs on the back of his head stood up as he pulled his hand out from the dark void. He shallowed his nerves and stepped forward. An uncomfortable pressure clutched at his gut as the darkness dissolved. He closed his eyes and blue lightning flowed over his body. When he opened his eyes, he was standing in the archway of a large chamber.

He found a lamp and oil near the opening. Lighting the lamp, he continued to investigate the secret room. He smiled when he saw there were large bags of grain, dried fruit, vegetables and potatoes. Earthen jars filled with herbs and spices sat on shelves, and a braid of garlic hung from the rafters. There was and even a few small barrels of mead. Several worn leather bound journals sat on high on a shelf. He brought up the lamp and one of the journals.

Brienne looked at him as he climbed out of the cellar. “Any luck?” she asked not expecting much.

Jaime smiled “actually, I found a secret room filled with supplies.”

“You’re kidding,” Brienne said in surprise.

“Whoever they were, they been gone for years,” he said, putting the journal and lamp on the table.

Brienne took the lamp down to the cellar to collect provisions. It would be easier for her to carry up the supplies, having two good hands.

Jaime sat down at the table and started reading the old journal. He had never been much of a reader that was more Tyrion’s domain. However, he figured the journal might be a good way to pass the time, they could be trapped in the old keep for gods knew how long.

Brienne prepared a rabbit stew adding dried vegetables, potatoes and spices from the cellar. She handed a bowl of stew to Jaime who still sat engaged in the old book. She pulled another chair over to the table and sat down looking at him. He didn’t seem to have noticed the food placed in front of him or Brienne looking at him, enthralled with what he was reading.

“So what is that?” she asked, unconsciously picking up the small toy lion, rolling it in her long fingers. Along the rough stitches, the fabric was bright red. Time had worn the bright red hue like the footsteps of fairies long since faded.

Jaime looked up finally realizing food and a person sat in front of him.

“Well?” Brienne asked again pointing at the book, “what is that?” She knew Jaime was a man of action and not books. Something in the old journal had caught his interest.

“The journal of the pervious tenant of our humble abode,” he said, carefully placing the leather bound book on the table as if it was a priceless treasure, before turning to the bowl of stew.

“Who were they?” Brienne said. “A poor landed knight?”

“He wasn’t a knight,” Jaime relied as he ate, “He started out as the third son of a noble house, before training as a Maester at the Citadel.”

“Which house?” Brienne asked now a little curious herself.

A remorseful reflected in Jaime’s green eyes, “House Reyne.”

“I thought they were all dead!” Brienne exclaimed looking deep into the adorable face of the small toy lion. Of course, the lion would have been red.

“So did I,” Jaime replied, “So did my father, luckily he seems to have missed one.

“So how did he end up here?” Brienne asked.

“Well, I haven’t read the entire journal yet,” Jaime explained, “But from what I’ve read so far, his name was Martyn Reyne.”

Brienne nodded, listening while she ate.

“When he heard that my father’s forces had destroyed Castamere and killed his family he fled from the citadel.”

“And he ended up here? Hidden away in the middle of a swamp?” Brienne finished his thought.

Jaime nodded solemnly and turned back to his stew.

Brienne helped Jaime collect the rest of Martyn Reyne’s lost journals. The oldest, written when Martyn Reyne was only ten years old.

While the icy wind howled and battered the timeworn keep, they huddled together on the old mattress reading the life story of Martyn Reyne, of Castamere.

-oOo-  
**Interlude in needle and thread**

“Ouch,” Brienne said sucking on her finger as she dropped the small scrap of linen and the needle that had impaled her finger. When the bleeding stopped, she reached down and picked up the small bloodstained linen scrap.

The embroidery looked terrible Brienne sighed. She didn’t know why she even bothered. She hadn’t been good at embroidery even after Septa Roelle had forced her to learn. Brienne was never interested and used to sneak out of her lessons whenever possible, preferring to practice sparring in the yard.

However, if truth be told, there was nothing else to do. Brienne had sharped both Oathkeeper and Widow’s Wail until both swords shined brightly. When the boredom began to eat at her spirit, she had cleaned the tower, sweeping away all of the dust and cobwebs.

Trapped until the blizzard raging outside past overhead, in that moment, embroidery had seemed like a good way to pass the time. It only proved to be a good way to puncture her fingers.

She looked over at the table Martyn Reyne’s journals sat piled next to the small toy lion and Jaime’s golden hand. He hadn’t bothered to wear it for several days, the stump didn’t bother her, and the gold hand was uncomfortable, heavy and the frozen metal made his arm cold.

She thought about reading one of the journals, but she had promised Jaime they would read them together in the evening. Sighing again, Brienne studied the linen scrap in her hands. She didn’t have Lady Sansa’s skills with needle and thread, obviously.

The door rattled loudly and a gust of cold air swept into the tower. Jaime entered carrying a load of firewood. He shook the snow from his cloak like a stray dog before stacking the wood by the hearth.

“What are you doing?” he asked looking over at her.

“Nothing,” She replied blushing and trying to hide the scrap of linen.

“Let me see,” Jaime chuckled reaching across and trying to grab the linen scrap from her hands.

“No,” Brienne said embarrassed by her failed attempt at artistry.

“Brienne,” Jaime scolded and managed to wrestle the scrap from her hands.

The golden lion lay content as shooting stars raced across the night sky. At least that was how the design on the scrap of linen was supposed to look. In reality, the lumbering lion was rough and lumpy and the edge of the linen scrap had frayed from Brienne’s tight grip. Several bright red spots of blood decorated the fabric.

“Is this me?” He asked pointing at the lion. “…and the stars are you watching over and protecting me?” Jaime smiled as he looked down the small scrap in this hand.

Brienne blushed a looked away, embarrassed by the stupidity of it all. The design she had imagined in her head was much better.

“It’s-,” Jaime started to say.

“It’s terrible,” Brienne laughed uncomfortably and tried to snatch the scrap from his hand, but Jaime held it out of her reach.

“No, it’s beautiful,” He replied.

“It is not,” she had thought they had moved past heartless insults, “and you're mocking me.”

“Can I have it?” Jaime asked ignoring her response. He smiled as he ran his fingers over the lumpy lion and shooting stars.

Brienne couldn’t understand why he would want such a hideous thing, “When we get to Winterfell, I’m sure Lady Sansa could make a better-.”

“No, I want this one,” he said, somehow still in awe of the hideous thing, “It’s…it’s you.”

“What? Ugly?” Brienne growled, hurt by the association. She knew what she looked like and didn’t need the comparison a poor attempt at needlework.

“Sure, it’s a little rough and frayed around the edges.” He looked at her face and traced his finger along the scar on her upper lip, “but, underneath all that, it’s pure and innocent and…very, very beautiful.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are love.


	7. A Cat of a Different Coat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne and Jaime meet a mysterious stranger.

Chapter Seven  
A Cat of a Different Coat

“They were happy here,” Jaime mused as he listened to Brienne read from Martyn Reyne’s old and battered Journal.

The blizzard had blustered and roared for a week. Trapped inside the old tower, Martyn Reyne’s journals were a much needed distraction from the domineering tedium. Jaime and Brienne huddled together on the old straw mattress, usually Brienne read. Jaime was content to hold her in his arms and listen to the slow drawl of her voice as she read.

Brienne rested against Jaime’s warm and muscular chest, his arms wrapped around her waist, a moment of peace in a world on the edge of madness.

“We could be happy here,” he sighed as he rested his chin on her shoulder. She could feel his breath on her neck as his smile brushed her ear. 

Brienne stopped reading, “What are you on about?”

“We could forget the war, forget oaths and kings and queens…stay here together…start a family,” 

“You can’t be serous?” she hesitated, turning slightly to study Jaime’s handsome face.

“Of course not, it’s a dream, a fantasy to pass the time,” Jaime smiled at her, “just play along.”

 _What was the point of pretending things that could never be?_ She wondered. Although, Jaime seemed to enjoy his little fantasy and she had to admit there was a certain comfort in pretending a different reality, one where the world wasn’t about to end.

“Well, this place needs some fixing up,” Brienne laughed, “You have your work cut out for you.”

“Me?” Jaime snorted holding up the stump of his maimed right arm, “fixing things will be your job.”

“…and the children?” Brienne said shyly, “my job as well?”

“Of course, two little lion cubs,” Jaime mused, “As brave and strong as their mother.”

“And as conceded as their father,” Brienne teased.

Brienne felt Jaime’s breath on her neck as he whispered into her ear, “we would be happy here.”

Brienne’s breath caught in her throat as she turned around placing her hand on his chest, her long fingers playing with a loose thread on his tunic. When she looked up, emeralds and sapphires merging together.

As if shipwrecked on a distant shimmering blue sea, Jaime could lose himself in her eyes. His hand slightly trembled as he reached up and brushed a rebellious pale blond strand of hair away from her face.

“Your hair is so soft, like silk,” he smiled, his eyes studying her freckled face, finally coming to rest on her lips, he wanted to kiss her, he needed to kiss her.

Jaime twinned his fingers in her hair drew her closer, their lips lightly touching before...

The splendor was shattered as the door rattled loudly and swung open. The spell broken, they were immediately on their feet, raising their swords as a ghostly figure emerged from the gusts of snow. The dark figure paused in the doorway scrutinizing the room like a hunting lion before entering.

“Who are you?” Jaime demanded of the stranger.

“I would ask the same of you,” the dark figure said lowering his hood, “as you are in my home.”

The man appeared to be around sixty years old, streaks of gray wove through his tousled dark ash-brown hair. The man considered the two intruders with sharp bluish grey eyes. The stranger clutched a large weirwood quarterstaff, the top an ornate design that held a single large shard of dragonglass. Blue lightning flickered around the deep black shard.

“You’re-?” Brienne asked.

“Martyn of Shadowmire,” the man introduced himself, seemingly undaunted by the weapons pointed in his direction.

“You mean Martyn Reyne,” Jaime stated.

“Martyn Reyne,” the old man mused, “Now that’s a name I had not heard in a long time…a long time.”

The old man brushed snow from his cloak before rambling over to the table and sitting down. He looked back at the two intruders in his home intently, a slight challenge in his gray-blue eyes.

The man nodded, “Yes, I am Martyn Reyne,” he looked at his old journals piled on the table, “It seems my wards have failed.”

A large creature appeared in the doorway, a lion of enormous size. The creature’s body was robust with short muscular legs and a stump of a tail. However, the creature’s most startling feature was two large curved fangs that protruded from its oversized jaw. The Lion lumbered into room only glancing at Jaime and Brienne before it flopped down in front of the fire and yawned, displaying the full grandeur of its large curved teeth.

Jaime and Brienne starred as the large creature’s yellowish-green eyes ascended on them. They both stepped back and raised their weapons defensibly. The lion ignored them and their steel with a huff.

“Ignore Kev,” Martyn chuckled, “he is quite harmless, unless you plan on causing trouble.”

“No, no trouble,” Brienne said lowering Oarthkeeper, only slightly, “we’re sorry, we didn’t’ mean to break into your home, we thought the tower abandoned.”

“I see,” Martyn replied dryly, “and that is why you raided my cellar and read my journals.”

“We thought you were dead,” Jaime replied to the man’s accusation.

“My family, both my families are dead, I remain…” Martyn said, before looking up at the intruders, “a fact that must be hard to accept for the Kingslayer, and a Lannister?”

“You know who I am?” Jaime asked.

Martyn nodded and calmly enquired, “Are you here to kill me?”

The saber-toothed lion raised its large head, snorted. Mercifully, it didn’t move from its position next to the fire.

“No!” Brienne answered, “of course not.”

“What my family did,” Jaime said, his tone thick with regret, “It was-.”

Martyn looked at Jaime and stated, “You are not your family.”

“No, I am not,” Jaime scowled.

“You look like him,” Martyn said a hint of sorrow in his words.

“Who?” Jaime asked, “my father?”

“No, your uncle,” The old man pronounced, “you look like Kevan.”

-oOo-

Jaime yawned and still half-asleep reached over to caress Brienne’s soft silky hair. Her hair felt rough under his fingers. Something wasn’t right. He opened his eyes sleepily to discover disheveled golden hair. _Cersei?_ His mind sleepily wondered, but that wasn’t right either.

A deep rumble, almost a purr arose from deep inside the throat of the sleeping form under his hand. Jaime’s eyes went wide as the large head slowly turned, two large yellowish-green eyes, and two large curved fangs hovered mere inches from his face.

Jaime snatched his hand away and lurched backward colliding with Brienne, who growled and rolled over in her sleep.

A low laugh alerted Jaime of another presence in the room. 

“He likes you,” Martyn Reyne chucked. The older man sat on the wooden pallet watching the scene near the hearth unfold.

They had let Martyn sleep on the straw mattress, the tower was, after all his home. Brienne and Jaime had placed their bedrolls together near the fire. They were relieved when Martyn let the large saber-toothed lion outside to hunt for the night. Apparently, the cat hadn’t stayed away. The large lion had returned sometimes during the night and had reclaimed its pervious position next to the fire.

“Seven hells,” Jaime gasped, inching farther away from the beast, and again bumping into Brienne. Still fast asleep she wrapped her long arms around Jaime’s waist and held on.

“Kevan!” Martyn called to the beast, “Leave that boy alone!” 

The large beast stretched its short muscular front legs, arched its back and raised its hindquarters high in the air. It yawned widely showing off the sinister curved fangs, before it ambled over to the old man and plopped down with a huff. 

The old Scholar reached down and stroked the beast’s mane, “I found him on the southern plains of Sothoryos,” Martyn said to no one in particular, “He was just a little cub, when his whole pride was killed by hunters.”

Left unspoken, nonetheless, the irony hung thick in the air; _He was just a young cub when his whole pride was killed._

“Is that thing safe?” Jaime hissed as he rose to his feet, keeping a wary eye on the large beast.

“He’s never attacked anyone,” Martyn replied, as he continued to stroke the large lion’s golden mane, “who didn’t deserve it.”

The old man chuckled and looked up at Jaime a silent question written in his eyes, _do you deserve it?_

Jaime cast the older man an annoyed glare, for which he only received a smug smile in return. 

To both their surprise, Jaime suddenly saw the humor in the tenuous situation, and laughed. Sitting down at the table, Jaime looked over at the old wizard, and his lion, and smiled. 

“I always wanted a pet lion when I was little,” Jaime mused.

“So did I!” Martyn laughed, Scratching his ‘pet’ lion behind its large ears, “I guess it is the same for all little lion cubs, red or gold.”

“You named him Kevan?” Jaime asked.

“He reminded me of Kevan, when he was little” Martyn replied looking up at Jaime, “the golden mane, the green eyes, a ball of energy with a kind soul.”

“Uncle Kevan was your friend,” Jaime stated, not a question, he had read Martyn’s journals. He knew his uncle had once been Martyn’s closest friend.

“My best friend,” Martyn stated, “then I hated him, for so long…”

“…And now?” Jaime asked.

“I forgave your uncle years ago,” Martyn replied with a sad smile, “Your father…Lord Tywin held a kind of power over him. Tywin manipulated Kevan, changed him, took away all that was kind and good and replaced it with something…hollow. The Kevan I knew was brave and honorable. That is the man I choose to remember.”

Jaime swallowed thinking how Cersei had controlled him. How she had also taken away from him all that was admirable and good. It wasn’t just about sex, Cersei always had total control over him, even before they had laid together. She was more like Lord Tywin than their father had ever imagined.

“From what I have heard, since returning to Westeros, the situation appears to have repeated itself in the following generation of Lannisters.” Martyn said, meeting Jaime’s gaze.

Jaime could only sadly nod in agreement. What Martyn said was true. Not for the first time Jaime worried, did he had the strength too truly break away from his sister’s control? 

“Yet you are here,” Martyn said, somehow recognizing Jaime’s doubts, “defying your sister.”

“Only because it’s the end of the world,” Jaime replied succinctly.

“The end of the world?” Martyn asked, and then motioned to Brienne, “Or for her?”

Jaime looked at Brienne still peaceably asleep near the hearth and simply said, “both.”

Martyn nodded and said, “Now, tell me about this end of the world.”

-oOo-

The wind roared and snarled for another week, blowing circles around the ruined tower, trapping the four unlikely companions inside. The old wizard accepted the implausible tale of the Night King and the impending threat in the north without a blink.

“Many decades ago, the Three-Eyed-Raven warned me of the Long Night,” Martyn had said.

“How can that be? The Three-Eyed-Raven…Brandon Stark is but a child.” Brienne asked in confusion.

“…wait! Brandon Stark is alive and is a…what now?” Jaime swallowed.

“The Three-Eyed-Raven is a powerful greenseer, more powerful than even me,” Martyn replied to Jaime’s question with a knowing nod.

“Although, the Three-Eyed-Raven I knew,” Martyn continued, “beyond the Wall, forty years ago, was an old man, Bloodraven not Stark.”

“Brandon Stark returned from beyond the Wall shortly before I left Winterfell,” Brienne explained, “with...fantastic powers.”

“Then Bloodraven has died,” Martyn added, “He said he would not live to see the coming darkness...”

Jaime had stopped listening to Brienne and the old wizard, his only thought, _Brandon Stark is alive and had some kind of fantastic magical power. What am I walking into?_

His trance was broken only when he felt long fingers twine into his own. He looked over at Brienne who smiled at him kindly, her large blue eyes bringing him back to reality.

The fire roared and crackled in the hearth as Martyn told them of his second home; the tower, the swamp, and the surrounding forest, all bore the same name, Shadowmire.

Thought the long night, Martyn spun the tales of his travels, weaving a tapestry of adventure and exploration. He had travelled beyond the Wall, far to the north were ice and snow blanketed the land even in summer. 

He had voyaged across the narrow sea to Essos and the Free Cities and far away Asshai. Venturing into the shadowlands, were gruesome creatures still haunted ancient and forgotten cities.

In the ruins of Valyria, he had explored the remnants of grand cities too fabulous to imagine, discovering secrets lost in time.

The last fifteen years Martyn had travelled through Sothoryos. Where dragon-like creatures roamed on the cliffs of wyvern point and men struggled for survival, fighting against a dense and wild jungle.

Deep inside the mysterious continent an ancient and vanished civilization as grand as Old Valyria rested, forgotten, on the base of a canyon so wide the far side was absorbed is mist. 

He had travelled ever southward thought thick jungle and high mountains, until he had reach a wide savanna were giant saber-tooth lions hunted large herds of elk-like beasts. The inhabitants of the region worshiped the giant lions as gods, and hunted them to near extinction. 

-oOo-

As afternoon slipped into evening, Jaime helped Martyn carry one of the barrels of ale up from the hidden storeroom. 

They were deep in drink when Jaime asked the old man, “Why have you returned home now of all times?” 

“Prophesy,” the old wizard raised his mug in a toast to the fates.

“What prophesy?” Brienne asked curious to hear another of Martyn’s stories.

“A prophesy given to me by the Three-Eyed-Raven,” Martyn had responded.

“Brandon Stark?” Jaime shuttered.

“No, the other one,” Martyn laughed, “Bloodraven.”

“What was this prophesy?” Brienne wanted to know.

“Bloodraven said, I would return only ‘when lions hunt together,’ I saw them…the lions… and I knew it was time to come home.” The old wizard said pragmatically.

“Don’t some breeds of lions in Essos hunt is packs?” Jaime laughed, “It couldn’t have taken you forty years to see hunting lions.” 

“You’re right of course,” Martyn chuckled, “I saw many lions hunting throughout my travels in Essos and Sothoryos,”

“What made these particular lions special?” Brienne asked.

“I was on the plains of Sothoryos when I saw them,” the old man remembered, “two saber-tooth-lions, the same species as Keven.” 

The old man reached down and stroked the large lion’s long golden mane, before continuing his tale. 

“They were both male lions you see,” Martyn continued, “usually it’s lionesses who hunt.” 

“One lion had a dark mane, the other a golden mane. I believed they symbolized Kevan and I, a golden lion and a dark lion,” Martyn motioned to his dark hair streaked with silver.

“I believed it was time to finally return to Westeros, finally time to tell Kevan, I forgive him.” Martyn was silent for a few minutes, before he said in sad tone, “I was halfway home, when I knew I was wrong…when I felt him die.”

“Who?” Brienne asked.

“Kevan,” Jaime answered, “You felt Uncle Kevan die.” 

“I felt his light leave the world,” Martyn nodded sadly.


	8. The Red Lion Roars in Winter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The storm finally breaks and Jaime and Brienne can continue north.

Chapter Eight  
The Red Lion Roars in Winter

The hour might have been late, although it was hard to say, the sky had hung dark and heavy in a haze of blowing snow for days. The wind beat against the side of the tower like the death thralls of some hideous beast.

While Kevan laid on his back in front of the fire, snoring loudly. Every so often, the snoring would stop and large lion’s eyes would flutter slightly and gaze at the humans before sliding shut once more. 

The two warriors and the wizard sat at the table drinking ale from old and worn mugs. They had grown used to the roar of the wind and the gentle snorting of the lion’s snores.

Brienne hoped Martyn would share another of his adventures, the old man had possibly traveled farther than any living man. 

Martyn seemed in a contemplative mood, not wishing to talk of this travels. He starred into the fire with a serene look in his eyes. He had something else on his mind. 

“I have something for you,” Martyn finally said, ending his quiet contemplation of the fire. From his sleeve, the old man pulled a small scrap of linen. Embroidered into the fabric by a skilled hand was a red lion, the sigil of House Reyne.

“It’s beautiful,” Brienne said, looking at the fine stitching on the old linen scrap. The red lion stood on its hind legs, roaring up into the sky.

Wrapped inside the piece of linen was a long braided lock of golden hair.

“Your mother's,” Martyn said handing the strand of braided hair to Jaime.

“My mother?” Jaime breath caught, a range of emotions from joy to sadness flooded his face.

“Johanna made this for me,” Martyn said holding up the scrap of fabric, “While I was still at the Citadel.” 

Brienne smiled at Jaime wrapping one arm around his back and clutching his shirtsleeve with her other hand. 

“She was very beautiful?” She asked.

“She was,” both men answered together. Causing them look up at each other and pause before smiling.

“I can ever thank you enough for this,” Jaime said as he ran his finger along the golden braid.

“You should have it, to remember her,” Martyn nodded, “the good people are often the ones first forgotten. Johanna was…she was always very kind. She should be remembered.”

“I was only seven when she died,” Jaime recalled, “I barely remember her.”

Brienne held Jaime’s arm and laid her head on his shoulder. She knew how he felt she barely remembered her own mother.

Martyn looked in to fire, burning slowly down to black embers, “they should all be remembered.”

-oOo-

The next morning, Jaime woke up and for the first time in over a week, he didn’t hear the howling complaints of the wind outside. The weather had finally broke. Jaime untangled himself from Brienne’s long arms and stood up.

Looking around, Jaime noticed Martyn and the large lion were gone. When he opened the door, a slight breeze fanned his golden hair. It was still dark and the sun had just begun to cast a warm golden glow over the tree line.

Noises traveled in the thin crisp air of the early morning. Following the sounds, Jaime found Martyn and the large lion behind Shadowmire Keep. The odd pair stood before two old and forgotten gravestones. Martyn looked over at Jaime and smiled weakly, the old man’s eyes a storm of sorrows.

“My wife, Darra,” Martyn motioned to one of the grave markers.

“What happened?” Jaime asked.

Martyn looked over at the knight, “I guess you wouldn’t know, I left right after… I never wrote it down in my journal, for future meddlers,” The man laughed lightly, before continuing in a sadder tone, “This is actually the first time I’ve been back since it happened, forty years.”

Jaime didn’t respond, giving Martyn time to work though his emotions. Kevan had less boundaries, sensing Martyn’s pain he bumped his large head against old wizard’s hand, which broke Martyn out of his troubling thoughts.

“I…I was away,” Martyn explained, “When…the Ironborn came.”

“… and the children?’ Jaime asked.

“Kidnapped,” Martyn replied in sadness, “murdered, cast aside, their bodies burned far from home.”

“I’m sorry, Martyn,” Jaime said, “You…they didn’t deserve this.”

“Browyn would have been your age,” Martyn said looking over at Jaime. “He was going to be a knight, like my brothers…and my little Talawyn, so kind and smart, like her mother.”

“Tell me about Darra and the children,” Jaime said, sensing that older man wanted to talk of his lost family.

Martyn sighed and gathered his thoughts, “Darra was brave in her own way, defied all the rules, smart and stubborn.” 

Jaime nodded, and listened as Martyn continued to talk of his second family, like his first, unfairly taken from him.

Finally, Martyn stopped and looked at Jaime seriously. “Lannister... don’t blow it.” 

Then, Martyn quietly walked away, looking down at the snow below his feet. The large lion looked up at Jaime with intense yellow-green eyes and huffed accusingly, before following the old wizard, leaving Jaime alone and confused. The only sound was the crunching of their feet on the icy snow as they returned to the keep.

-oOo-

As the sun had climbed to its zenith, Brienne and Jaime prepared for the journey north. Martyn gave each of them one of his old and worn satchels filled with provisions for the journey. 

“To replace the one’s you lost in my swamp,” Martyn said, “it’s the least I can do.” 

“Will you stay here?” Brienne asked. 

“Forty years ago, a very strange man who lived under a tree, informed me I had a…small part to play in the war against the darkness.” Martyn told her, “I hear the darkness has finally saw fit to make an appearance.”

“You’re going north?” asked Brienne.

Martyn nodded, “eventually.”

“You’re welcome to travel with us,” Jaime told the old man.

The wizard only shook his head, “I still have further farewells to say before I travel north.”

Martyn turned to look back at the old tower. Smiling slightly, trying in vain to mask the pain written in his eyes.

“I have said my farewells to Shadowmire,” Martyn said, “to Darra and the children. I have another home, and another family, I need to say goodbye too before the world ends.”

“You’re going to Castamere.” Jaime said.

The old man nodded, “I’ve never been back.”

“You believe you are going to die in the war.” Jaime gravely stated.

“Why else would I still be here?” Martyn replied regretfully, “Everyone I ever loved is dead, and yet I remain. There has to be a reason.”

“Sometimes there just isn’t…” Jaime’s breath caught the air and wisps of steam rose up into the sky. 

Martyn Reyne looked off to the west, toward Castamere, “Maybe…,” Martyn swallowed and said, “Maybe, I will see you at Winterfall.”

“Until we meet again, Martyn,” Brienne said hugging the old man.

Brienne hitched her satchel over her shoulder and waited silently as Jaime said goodbye to Martyn. The knight and the old wizard had grown fond of each other during their entrapment in the tower.

She looked down at the old worn satchel and the lion embossed on the flap. Two tails, not one tail like a Lannister lion. It was the lion of House Reyne, a Castamere lion, roaring from the past.

“I have one more thing to give you,” Martyn said, and from under his cloak he pulled a longsword encased in an old and worn scabbard, “Honestly, I wasn’t even sure if I wanted to give it back.” He chuckled before handing the sword to Jaime. 

The weapon looked like it could have been a Reyne, or a Lannister blade. Although, no jewels or ornate design decorated the hilt, only a simple lion carved in gold, plain compared to Oathkeeper or Widow’s Wail. When Jaime pulled the sword from its scabbard, golden ripples ran across its valyrian steel blade.

“This isn’t…?” Jaime breath caught in his throat.

“Brightroar,” Martyn nodded, “Didn’t I tell you I had been to Valyria.”

“You did,” Jaime said as he ran his fingers across the gold ripples of the longsword’s blade. Jaimie’s ancestor Tommen II had lost the ancestral sword of House Lannister in Valyria centuries ago.

After Brightroar was lost, the Lannisters were one of the few great houses without a valyrian steel weapon. That was, until Tywin had Ned Starks, valyrian steel greatsword Ice, melted down and forged into Oathkeeper and Widow’s Wail.

“Thank you…but no,” Jaime shook his head and handing the sword back to Martyn, “House Lannister already has Widow’s Wail,”

Tywin Lannister would be rolling over in his grave if he knew what his favorite son had just done. That thought more than anything else made Jaime smile.

“House Reyne’s sigil was also a lion was it not? You keep it.” Jaime said with a smile, a part of him hoping his father was watching.

Martyn tried to decline, he had his staff Stormbringer, and a magical staff was a far better weapon for a wizard. However, Jaime insisted and Martyn finally agreed on one condition.

“Anything,” Jaime replied.

“Rename Widow’s Wail,” Martyn laughed, “it has to be the stupidest name I have ever heard, and in my travels I have heard a lot of stupid names.” 

“Agreed,” Jaime laughed, “what would you suggest?”

Martyn thought for a minute before he replied, “…Redemption.”

“Oathkeeper and Redemption,” Jaime nodded, “good names for sister swords.”

“One more thing, Ser Jaime,” Martyn said clutching the knight’s arm, “Your uncle…Kevan never got the chance to redeem himself, you still have that chance. Do it for him…and do it for you,” than Martyn said looking at Brienne, “most importantly, do it for her.”

Jaime nodded, “I will.”

-oOo-

The next day they had reached the Tumblestone River. The mighty river crashed against the rocks with a deafening roar. The swift Tumblestone ran too fast for winter’s icy cold embrace. Jaime and Brienne held onto each other tightly as the forded a tributary of the great river, emerging on the far side cold and wet. 

They found the ruins of an old mill near the riverbank. Only two rough-hewn walls still stood, it was enough to block the wind. They risked a small fire to take away the chill and dry their clothes.

“Do you think he will be okay?” Brienne asked looking back toward the Shadowmire forest.

“Who?” Jaime asked. “Martyn?”

Brienne nodded, “He is just an old man, older than my father.”

“Martyn’s a survivor,” Jaime replied, “He will probably outlive us all, even if he believes differently.”

“I hope your right,” she said pulling her cloak tighter, “If anyone deserves a happily-ever-after…”

“It's you,” Jaime said looking over at her.

“What?” She asked, not understand what he meant.

“You deserve a happily-ever-after.” He replied, throwing another small twig into the fire and looking over at her.

“Happily-ever-afters’ don’t happen to women like me,” she laughed uncomfortably and looking to the northeast, toward their destination, toward Winterfell.

Jaime stood up and placed his hand on her shoulder, turning her to face him. “You do, and I plan on making sure it happens, for both of us.”

“You’re going to?…Are you mocking me?” she asked trying to look away from his vivid green eyes.

Jaime cupped her chin and drew her face back, forcing her to look into his eyes. “If I was mocking you, you would know it, I’m not that subtle.”

“Since when are you so modest?” She asked with a slight laugh, trying to steer the conversation away from the present topic, which was making her increasingly uncomfortable.

“Since I met you,” he laughed, and then added in all sincerity, running his hand down her arm, “You don’t want to talk about it, about this…about feelings, I get that, but someday soon, we will.”

He looked deep into her blue eyes, ensuring she understood there would be no escape from the conversation.

Brienne shallowed and looked away, shying from his glances. She wanted solitude, to think and to reflect on what Jaime had said. She trudged through the rubble of the collapsed mill to stand next to the decaying stone of the wall. She held her cloak tight against the screams of the icy northern wind as she considered his words.

Brienne wasn’t as naïve as people seemed to think. So many times, she had dreamed that they would fall in love and living happily-ever-after.

The truth was being in love Jaime Lannister was hard. He wanted to know her feelings, her thoughts and dreams. He wanted to hear her words.

It had been easy to love Renly Baratheon. The would-be-king had demanded no feelings, no words or ideas from her, only her sword and her loyalty. He had wanted no more than she could give. Renly was simple and unchangeable, a consent in a chaotic world.

If Jaime knew the truth, would he want more than she was capable of giving? Might she then lose him forever? Brienne didn’t want what they had to change, because she loved him too much to risk losing him.

Jaime looked across the fire at the silent figure standing silhouetted against the night sky. He couldn’t fathom how he had once saw her as ugly. Far from it, she was a goddess, tall and proud and defying the icy north wind to claim her, as she had defied all the men who had tried to mock her and put her in her place. She was the Warrior; a tempest, a raging storm, and she was the Maiden; innocent, pure and honorable.

She had tried to slick back her hair in her typical style, but the wind hadn’t cooperated. Her pale blond hair glowed in the moonlight in contrast to her dark fur-lined cloak, both waving wildly in the icy wind.

The moon had risen full overhead when Brienne came back to the fire she laid her bedroll on the other side of the camp and sat down. She studied the man across the small fire. The flames reflecting in his emerald green eyes, she refused to look away from his gaze.

Finally, Jaime sighed and picked up his bedroll and laid it down beside hers, and simply said, “No.”

“No?” she looked at him more than one question was asked and answered in that one little word.

“No…never again.” he repeated and wrapped his cloak around both of them, pulling her close.

Brienne lay awake and felt the rhythm of Jaime’s breathing, her head resting on his chest and her hand over his beating heart. She clutched Jaime’s shirt in her hand as his words ran through her head. _You don’t want to talk about feelings _. No, she didn’t want to talk about feeling because that might mean everything would change.__


	9. Entrapped Hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne and Jaime run into trouble in the Whispering Woods. Meanwhile, Martyn returns to Castamere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapters 9 and 10 will both be uploaded tonight, because I know Chapter 9 will scare some people, It scared me. but I wanted a cliff hanger.  
> Please  
> Don't hate me...don't hate me...don't hate me

Chapter Nine  
Entrapped Hearts

The tall hedge hid Jaime and Brienne as the long column of crimson soldiers marched passed. They had heard the armies approach long before the first soldiers had come into view. The army wasn’t trying to be noisy, it was just the sound of hundreds of infantrymen marching, and the hoof beats of dozens of horses and the creak of supply wagons as they passed through the forest tended to make a lot of noise.

Jaime again regretted their decision to pass through Whispering Wood. They knew it would be dangerous so close to Riverrun, with the castle and the woods controlled by Lannister forces. However, Lannister patrols had already pushed them so far west, slipping around Riverrun and through woodland was the only way they could go. Without backtracking, which would add weeks to their journey. They had gambled on the woods, hoping that with a little luck the dense forest would offer them enough cover to evade the tightening patrols.

Jaime noticed the size of the army as it passed, maybe up to three thousand. Consisting of knights and their subsequent pages and squires, infantry, light cavalry and supply wagons. They couldn’t be mere reinforcements to the Garrison at Riverrun? The Riverlands were mobilizing. _Why?_ It didn’t take an army to hunt down two fugitives.

A large Knight had stopped in front of the tall hedge, astride a white warhorse and directing the long column of Riverland soldiers as they marched down the forested road toward the castle. The large knight wore plate armor underneath a brown surcoat, the black and white boar of House Crakehall displayed proudly on his breast.

When the robust knight turned slowly to search the surrounding forest, light filtered in through the trees revealing his face. _Damn,_ Jaime thought, he recognized the man as Ser Lyle Crakehall…Strongboar.

Jaime had liked Strongboar, even though he was coarse, braggadocious and very loud. The large knight had been at the siege of Riverrun. When the castle surrendered without a fight, Strongboar had groused loudly. The knight had liked nothing better than a good fight.

Cersei of course hated the man and thought he was an oaf. Jaime knew different, what the large and powerful knight lacked in social graces he more than made up for with battle cunning.

Jaime swore the knight had heard the beating of his heart, when Strongboar pointed to their hiding place in the tall hedge and hollered in a loud and booming voice, “Over there!”

-oOo-

The slow rocking of the horse’s gait woke Jaime from his fitful dreams. Thrown over his head was a foul smelling sack. Even in his dream-ladled state, he recognized Brienne’s body slumped against his chest, her head resting on his shoulder. She was unconscious and her breathing, slow and uneven. Nevertheless, she breathed, they had not killed her yet. Jaime knew it was only be a matter of time.

Several pairs of hands roughly forced them from the horse. Jaime was marched them down a long flight of uneven stairs. The surrounding air was cold and damp, the odor of old straw and mold mixed with the even more unpleasant smell of piss and shit.

The same rough hands pushed Jaime down on a low stone ledge. After removing the hood, the guards nervously backed out of the cell, never taking their eyes off the Kingslayer. Even weaponless and missing one hand, Jaime elicited fear in the minds of lesser men. Jaime squinted his eyes adjusting to the lack of light in the dungeon. The guards had dumped Brienne, unconscious on the cold stone floor.

Kneeling by her side, Jaime patted her face until she regained consciousness.

“Where are we?” she asked, in a daze as he helped her to the stone ledge.

“Riverrun,” Jaime responded, “I recognize the foul stench from the last time I was a guest here.”

They spent two days locked in the cold and dank dungeon of Riverrun. The only visitors were the guards, who nervously slid bowls of foul gruel and stale water through the bars of the cell, before hurrying away.

Jaime knew he couldn’t bribe, fight or intimidate his way out of Riverrun’s dungeon. He had left his wealth and power behind, when he fled Cersei’s madness. He had nothing left, except Brienne and her honesty, her bravery and her loyalty.

_Loyalty,_ he thought, did he still have loyalty. Would loyalty to their former Lord Commander be enough to convince the guards to free them?

“Like a lion in a cage,” A brash laugh broke into Jaime’s inner thoughts. Strongboar was casually leaning one shoulder against the bars. Had the large man come to witness his defeat? Jaime sneered silently, cursing the knight. Than he saw something else, written behind the man’s eyes. _Loyalty?_

Strongboar had been loyal once. One of Jaime’s most trusted bannermen. Could he be again?

Jaime stood as tall as he was able in his weakened condition. Confinement in the cell had shattered his strength. If his plan was to succeed, Strongboar had to see him as the Lord Commander and not a weak and defeated prisoner.

“You have heard what is coming from north of the wall?” Jaime said with an arrogant voice.

“I have heard rumors,” the large knight smirked, “I’m not so thick as to believe them.”

“What you have heard is all true,” Jaime replied, before repeating the account the King of the North, Jon Snow had told them at the dragonpit.

“You know me Strongboar,” Jaime said in a haughty, Lannister tone, after he had finished the tale, “You know I wouldn’t make this up.”

For a moment, Strongboar seemed to consider Jaime’s words. Hope in a desperate situation, until the large knight’s laugh echoed through the dungeon.

“Lannister…you almost had me going there,” Strongboar hooted. “To bad though, sounds like a worthy fight,”

“Cersei has betrayed the whole realm, betrayed us all!” Jaime yelled at the knight’s large retreating back.

-oOo-

“When are they going to…?” Brienne shivered, her icy breath rising in the air. She knew that the eventually guards would come to lead her to her death.

Jaime’s jaw clutched as he stared off into the space beyond the bars. He didn’t say a word, as he pulled her closer. If that was even possible, Jaime was already holding on to her tightly. A part of him wanting to believe, if he held her close enough, they couldn’t take her away.

Jaime’s heart collapse when a menacing figure emerged from the shadows.

“Aw…look at the lovebirds,” Strongboar loud laugh reverberated off the metal bars of their cell. At least ten despondent guards stood silently behind the large knight.

“Kingslayer, best to let go of your lady” Strongboar said, motioned the guards forward, “I’ve been ordered to escort her to the great hall for questioning.”

The guards roughly pulled Brienne from Jaime’s arms. He wasn’t meekly going let them take her. He lunged at the guards, knocking the closest man to the ground, wresting the sword from the guard’s hand. It took two men to pull him off the fallen man and restrain his arms behind his back.

Brienne broke free from the two guards who were trying to pull her from the cell. She tripped one by wrapping her foot around the guard’s leg, sending him tumbling to the floor. She threw her shoulder into another man who was trying to hold her arms, knocking him into the wall. Brienne had almost reached Jaime when three guards caught and bound her arms behind her back.

Strongboar raised his hand, roaring loudly for everyone to settle down. “Let them say goodbye.”

With their arms bound, Jaime and Brienne could only leaned into each other presence. The guards, the cell, and the world disappeared around them. Only their breath mingling in the cold air between their lips remained. Sharing the exact same thought, their lips lightly brushed, once, twice. Then they kissed as if the world was about to break apart.

“Do you trust me?” he whispered against her lips, “Trust me when I say…”

“Yes,” she breathed in a hushed whisper.

“I love you,” he said looking into her eyes. If only he could hold her one last time.

“I know…” she replied her eyes glistening with silent tears, “I…I love you too.”

As the guards pulled them apart, Brienne refused to turn away from Jaime’s gaze. As the two guards escorted Brienne down the corridor to her doom, his eyes never left hers.

-oOo-  
 **Interlude at Castamere**

The gatehouse and towers had collapsed. Everything lay in a state of decay. Martyn picked his way through the snow-covered yard, avoiding rubble and large blocks of stone. Castamere’s façade carved from the cliff-face had huge holes blasted from the rock.

Tywin Lannister had used trebuchets to launch huge boulders against the keep. That wasn’t what had destroyed the castle. The projectiles had only scratched the surface of the mighty stronghold. Castamere was the mountain. It would have been just easy to knock the entire mountain down, as it would have been to destroy the keep.

Tywin would have known that of course, the bombardment had only been a ploy to force the Reynes deep into the lower halls. Than Tywin had ordered the course of the nearby river altered to flood the keep and all souls inside. Martyn’s family had drowned, like cats tied in a sack.

Stone stairs cut into the rock-face led up to the Maester’s Chamber. Martyn inched up the dangerous and crumbling stairs, it appeared that time had bombarded Castamere as much as Tywin Lannister’s Trebuchets.

Had Maester Avere been in his chambers high on the cliff-face, instead of the lower hall, would Tywin had let the old man live? Conquering lords usually spared the castle’s Maester. Would Tywin Lannister have abided the rules of war? The question was pointless anyway, Maester Avere was in the lower hall when Tywin had unleashed the torrent of murky water into the keep. The old man had died with the rest of Martyn’s family.

Maester Avere’s infirmary was a graveyard of broken vials and earthen jars. Scavengers, hoping to take away the pain of living, had raided the apothecary for milk-of-the-poppy and other concoctions, which would dim a man’s senses long ago. 

The old man’s voice seemed to echo through time, Martyn could almost see the old Maester poking him in the forehead with a single pointy finger, when Martyn begged to go to the training yard with his brothers, _“Training your mind is important, just as important as training you body.”_

Returning to the yard, Martyn made his way to the keep. A pair of roaring lions sculpted out of the mountain had once stood watch over the entrance. One of the lion had cracked, its severed head lay partially blocking the large door. Martyn stepped around the stone head and into the keep.

In the Great Hall, snow covered tables lay smashed and discarded. The House Reyne banners, torn down and lay decaying in the corner, once bright white and red, time washed away the colors. The banners had turned gray with age.

Martyn heard the soft sound of water lapping against stone coming from the lower lever. He wondered, _Could the lower hall still be submerged?_ Martyn inched down the worn steps to the lower hall. The dark murky water lapped hungrily at the steps.

A low whimper came from above and Martyn looked up to see Kevan standing at the top of the stairs. 

“Come on boy,” he called to the large saber-tooth-lion.

The beast whimpered again and began pacing back and forth.

“Coward,” Martyn laughed at the lion, and continued down the stairs.

When he reached the point where water met air, Martyn crouched down and ran his hand through the still water. _This is where they died._

Small ripples from the movement of his hand cascaded through the water rippling across the submerged hall. 

Waves rippled back against his legs as a familiar, pungent, after a lightning storm, odor filled the chamber. The water stirred nervously as a large head rose above the water.

“Edjiir,” Martyn whispered. When they were children, Lord Reyn’s page, Kevan Lannister and Martyn had found the baby wyvern in the warren of tunnels under Castamere.

They had released Edjirr into a mountain lake above Castamere when he had grown too large to hide from Martyn’s father. Edjirr had grown even larger, although, not nearly the size of a dragon. The wyvern was easily the size of one of the great elk-like creatures Martyn had seen on the Savannas of Sothoryos.

Edjirr must have returned to Castamere sometime after Martyn’s family had gone. Both Martyn and Edjiir had returned to the place of their birth.

A low growl rumbled in the wyvern’s throat. Martyn rose to feet and stood still, waiting for the large creature to approach. Edjiir stopped a few feet from the wizard and tilted his head.

“Edjiir,” Martyn said again, reaching forward. “It’s me, it’s Martyn, I’ve come home.”

The creature lowered its head and let Martyn scratch him between his eyes. The growling had changed to a pleasant rumble. Blue lightning coursed over the creature’s body and down Martyn’s arm. When the lightning reached the shard of dragonglass in Martyn’s staff, the stone lit up, illuminated the dark chamber. 

Martyn smiled, “You remember me.”

The old wizard sat down on the steps and the wyvern laid his head on his lap. It wasn’t comfortable the creature’s head was the size of a hunting hound. 

“Those hounds wouldn’t dare bark at you now,” Martyn laughed as he stroked the giant head of the creature. Remembering when Edjiir had escaped from the old bastion where Kevan and Martyn had hidden him. The creature had ran through the yard and every hound in the castle had yowled and barked.

Suddenly the image of a young boy with a mop of blond hair and bright green eyes flashed into Martyn’s mind. It felt similar to a vision, but Martyn knew it wasn’t, it was Edjiir’s memories.

“Kevan is…he’s dead,” Martyn told the large creature, “I never got the chance to tell him…I forgave him.” 

The wyvern made a low moaning sound. Martyn realized Edjiir had understood his words and they had caused the creature pain. 

Martyn scratched the wyvern between his eyes, “it’s okay…for you to have always loved him.”

Edjiir splashed his long tail on the surface of the water and rumbled softly, before the he disappeared back into the murky water below Castamere.

Marryn sat on the steps for a long while watching the slow moving ripples on the surface of the water slowly disappear. 

“Goodbye,” Martyn finally said, to the wyvern and his family.


	10. Unlikely Friends and Allies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime and Brienne find help from the most unlikely of Lords.

Chapter Ten  
Unlikely Friends and Allies

“Are we done being stupid?” Strongboars gruff voice said. The knight leaned against the wall on the far side of the room. His arms crossed casually in front of his large chest. Lyle Crakehall appeared to be relaxed, but Jaime could tell by the tension in the knight’s neck that he was more than ready to spring into action at the least provocation.

Jaime felt the welt rising on his face, where Strongeboar had backhanded him with a gauntleted hand, after Jaime had tried to fight the guards as Brienne was lead to her death.

He stood in silent despair as the servants washed, shaved and dressed him. _Was she dead already?_ He wondered as the servants fussed around him. _Would I feel her light leave the world?_

It was at least hopeful that he hadn’t felt anything yet. Only regret that the promise, never to leave her again had been broken.

Strongboar escorted Jaime down a long corridor to a private solar. More quaint and intimate than the Great Hall, the room was still large enough for several guest to dine in comfort.

“Jaime!” a stern female voice exclaimed. He looked up with blank eyes to see his Aunt, Lady Genna Frey. The short and plump older woman had golden blond hair streaked with grey. Piercing green eyes, Lannister eyes, stared up at him. She reached up and grabbed a firm hold on Jaime’s ear, as if she was scolding an unruly child.

“You have been very, very bad,” she said, “I get ravens everyday…everyday! …From Cersei…asking where you are.”

“Fuck Cersei,” he spat on the floor.

“…and that is what I hear-,” Strongboar’s gruff laugh came from the back of the room.

Lady Genna shot the large knight a disapproving glare, before turning back to her wayward nephew, “What I’m I to do with you?”

Jaime looked around the room and found a face that haunted his past staring at him with cold hatred. Edmure Tully sat at the table absentmindedly fidgeting with the utensils placed before him. 

“Lord Edmure was kind enough to join us for dinner,” Lady Genna chirped. The former Lord of Riverrun was just as much a prisoner in Riverrun as Jaime. What was his aunt playing at? Dragging the man from his cell to display him at dinner, like a prized hog.

“We get so few visitors these days, with the war. I long for polite company,” Genna replied, “all I have for company are your uncle Emmon and Ser Lyle.”

“Ha!” the gruff knight laughed not taking the least bit offence at the remark.

“Where is she? Aunt Genna,” Jaime growled, he didn’t care about Edmure Tully and his hatred or Genna and her need for polite company.

His aunt didn’t say a word, as she looked over his shoulder, Jaime turned and he saw her…

Brienne stood in the doorway, a look of confusion on her freckled young face. Lord Frey had questioned her in the Great Hall. Afterwards she expected to be lead to the executioner’s block. That hadn’t happened, after a bath and a change of clothes, the guards escorted her here, to a large private solar.

Jaime had seen Brienne in a dress before, a pink hideous gown at Harrenhal that had made her look ridicules. The old peasant dress she had worn at Shadowmire, old and threadbare.

The dress Brienne now wore was completely different, and she looked, amazing. His aunt apparently knew how to dress a woman to highlight her best features and hide away her flaws. The slim, long blue satin gown, in a dornish style, actually fit Brienne properly. Someone had even taken the time to style her hair, braiding in several small blue flowers that brought out the color of her eyes.

Jaime walked toward her as if he was in a daze, staring into her eyes, not daring to look away, least she disappear again. He pulled her into his arms, burying his face into her hair. She smelled of lavender and flowers.

Jaime ignored his aunt’s light cough, as he brought his hand up to Brienne’s face, she responded by leaning softly into his touch and closing her eyes.

“I thought …” He couldn’t say the words.

“I know,” She said kissing the palm of his hand.

When Lady Genna coughed a second time a little louder, the spell was broken. The couple turned to look at the plump Lady of Riverrun, who was motioning them to join her at the table.

Genna turned to Strongboar, “Ser Lyle, where is Lord Emmon?”

The large knight only shrugged, “Talking to those northern lumber merchants again,” he smirked and added a, “…my lady,” at the end as if it was a mere afterthought.

 _No wonder Cersei hates the man,_ Jaime chuckled softly.

“Please, go and collect him.” Genna sighed, sending the knight away.

After a short pause, Lady Genna collected herself and looked at Jaime, “Now, young man, could you explain to me, just what is going on between you and your sister?”

Edmure Tully chortled and leaned forward, his elbows on the table, resting his chin on the back of his hands, a smirk played on his lips. _The cunt,_ Jaime thought, sneering at the former lord of Riverrun coldly. 

“Jaime,” His aunt asked tapping his left hand drawing his attention back to her, “enough of this nonsense, you will return to Kings landing and-”

“I will not,” Jaime replied dryly, “Cersei is insane…she ordered Brienne’s execution and-” 

“Oh, that won’t be happening,” Lady Genna interrupted him, “Ser Lyle will escort Lady Brienne back to Tarth, as soon as arrangements can be made.”

“You would risk the queen’s wrath?” Brienne asked.

“Cersei…the queen, may be upset at first,” Lady Genna replied, “but, jealousy is unbecoming of a queen, and she will thank me later.”

Lord Emmon appeared, followed by Strongboar. Emmon Frey looked much the same as the last time Jaime had seen his uncle, after the surrender of Riverrun. The small bald man had a rat-like face, no chin a large adam’s apple. 

Jaime’s uncle had escaped the massacre at the Twins. The nervous little man for some reason, known only to himself, had not accepted his father’s invitation to the Twins to celebrate the Red Wedding with the rest of his male relatives. 

“Ser Jaime,” Emmon Frey began, “ Ser Lyle has told me you left King’s Landing because-.”

“It doesn’t matter why he left,” Lady Genna interrupted him, “Because he is going back to King’s Landing, and-.”

“I would still know his reason,” Lord Frey said interrupting his wife. A feat that surprised everyone, the timid little man never defied his wife or her family.

Jaime cleared this throat, and began his account of recent events, the failure of the parley at the Dragonpit and the wight. How the King of the North and the Dragon Queen had asked for a cessation of the war, so they could defeat the Night King and his army of the undead. How Cersei had lied about sending troops north.

The thin old man quietly listened, a look of dread and… belief, written on his meek chinless face. Jaime’s tale wasn’t a surprise or unforeseen by the Lord of Riverrun. Emmon Frey cast an erudite expression at Strongboar, and nodded. The Lord of Riverrun and brash knight apparently knew more about the war against the dead and the Long Night, then Strongboar had lead Jaime to believe in the dungeon. 

Lady Genna to her credit listened patiently, before stating what any sane person would, under similar circumstances. “You can’t reasonably expect us to believe that do you?” 

“It true, Lady Genna,” Brienne exclaimed, “Winter has come.”

“Even if what you say is true, what is it that you hope to accomplish?” Lady Genna pointedly asked her nephew.

“You control the Lannister and Frey forces stationed in the Riverlands.” Jaime said, “Send them north to aid Winderfell.”

“…and betray the crown?” Genna gasped, “How would that be of benefit to us?

 _Even at the end of the world?_ Jaime thought in frustration, annoyed at his whole family’s lack of far-sightedness. Except Tyrion, his little brother had understood.

“Casterly Rock,” Jaime finally announced after a moments pause.

“What?” Lady Genna asked in confusion.

“I will give up my claim to Casterly Rock, I will sign anything, have your Maester draw up a contract, I will renounce my claim and with Tyrion a…a traitor to the crown, you will be next in line.”

“You would give up your lands and title?” Lady Genna asked in disbelief.

“I never wanted them!” Jaime scowled, “You and Tyrion can fight over it for all I care.” 

Lady Genna, failing to comprehend why anyone would simply give up their inheritance asked, “…and, then what, where will you go?” 

“After the Night King is defeated,” Jaime said, “…and if we survive, I plan on retiring to a nice quiet island,”

Brienne’s month dropped open. A slight red hue spread across her young freckled face. She dropped her eyes to her hands clasped together on her lap.

“You trust me?” he leaned over and whispered.

“Yes,” she whispered back blushing.

“Jaime this…fairy tale is all very…imaginative,” Lady Genna said calmly, “But even if Grumpkins and snarks are real… the Wall is…the Wall will protect us. You should return to kings Land-.”

“The dead already march on the Wall,” Lord Emmon Frey finally spoke, so timidly, they almost didn’t hear, “…and it will fall.”

“Nonsense-,” Lady Genna started to speak.

“Genna! Enough!” Emmon Frey roared, so uncharacteristically even Edmure Tully stared at the normally meek and sullen man in shocked silence.

The small chinless man rose to his feet, “For years, I remained silent through Tywin’s machinations,” a volcano of pent up rage erupted in the small man’s words. 

“Emmon, dear,” Lady Genna said offhandedly, “sit down before you embarrass yourself.” 

“I will not!” the timid man said in disdain, “Now that the rest of my family is dead, I am Lord of both the Twins and Riverrun…Am I wrong?” He looked at Jaime for confirmation.

Jaime had always assumed his uncle was a weak and spineless man. He hoped, after all these years his uncle had actually grown a backbone.

“Ser Jaime,” Emmon looked at Jaime in determination, “will you lead my armies against the Night King? Will you accept the title of Lord Commander of the Army of the Riverlands?” 

Jaime smiled and rose to his feet, “We need to plan,” hope had come from the most unexpected of allies, “and a map if you have one,” 

Lyle Crakehall disappeared and returned a few minutes later with a large map of Westeros. Strongboar and Jaime pushed the food and dishes off the table, replacing their meal with the map.

“We need to secure the south,” Jaime said pointing at the Riverlands, “If these creatures get past the Neck…all of Westeros will fall, they must be contained in the North.”

“Agreed,” Strongboar roared, “The Twins are more strategic, it will need to be garrisoned.” 

“After the Twins are secured, Lady Genna and I will travel north to Winterfell with Ser Jaime, to bend the knee and hope for leniency.” Emmon said tracing his finger along the King’s Road.

Genna didn’t stay quiet, “I will not go nor-,”

“You will,” Emmon interrupted her, “both our families need to atone for their sins and we will both bend the knee and accept whatever punishment the North feels appropriate.”

Strongboar spoke in a loud voice, “Ser Jaime, might I suggest you take a squad and go to the Westerlands, there are many houses that have no love for the crown and would gladly follow you.”

Emmon nodded in agreement, “It would double the size of our army.”

“I will go with you to the Westerlands,” Strongboar announced in an unnecessarily loud voice, “I know which houses might be persuaded to join our cause.”

“It’s true, isn’t it?” Edmure Tully spoke timidly for the first time, a slight tremor in his voice, “the dead march on the wall?”

“Send a raven to Winterfell,” Brienne replied, “I’m sure they will verify all we have said.”

“I can help,” Edmure Tully said, “I can secure and hold the Twins for you.”

“Why would you do that?” Jaime asked the former Lord of Riverrun, “We are enemies, you and I.”

“Because my wife and child are at the Twins,” Lord Tully said, “If what you say is true, they will be defenseless against the undead.”

Jaime looked at Lord Emmon, the Twins were his family’s hold, and it had to be his decision. Emmon merely nodded his head in agreement.

Jaime smiled their plan was falling into place, “Lord Emmon, you and Aunt Genna will go to Winterfell, with the Army of the Riverland. Explain to them our plans.”

“Call our banners,” Lord Emmon said to the Maester of Riverrun.

“We will be able to field at least ten thousand from the Riverlands alone.” Strongboar said with such certainty, it appeared the robust knight and little lord, already had a rough plan in place, and were only waiting for someone to take command. 

Jaime nodded, “Lord Edmure, take as many men as you need to hold the Twins, if we fail in the north, you will be all the stands between the army of the dead and the rest of Westeros.”

Brienne wasn’t sure where she fit into Jaime’s plan. Sworn to Lady Sansa, Brienne knew she should return to Winterfell, but that would mean leaving Jaime.

“Don’t worry about your lady, Lord Emmon is bringing ten thousand men to aid Winterfell, she will be safe until you arrive.” Jaime took her hand, “I need you with me in the Westerlands. Without you there to protect me, who knows what trouble Strongboar and I will get into.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are love!


	11. The Lioness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime and Brienne are not in this chapter a lot. Emmon has marched his army to Winterfell and their reaction isn't what he had hoped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A word on Emmon Frey: I have taken some liberties with his personality. He wasn’t in the TV show, in the books he is a one-sided sniveling little ass. I wanted to give both Genna and Emmon a redemption arc.
> 
> In the book, Cleos Frey was killed near Maidenpoole escaping with Brienne and Jaime after Caitlyn Stark released them. He wasn’t with them in the TV show, and this story follows the events after season 7 of the show. When the two conflict I will try to follow the TV show. However, Cleos' death was a tipping point for his father, so he still had to die near Maidenpoole, just not while helping Jaime and Brienne.

Chapter Eleven  
The Lioness

The icy road made the carriage sway violently, like a tree in a furious northern wind. The road to Winterfell had been hard and cold. Icy gales had pounded on the side of the carriage relentlessly. 

Lady Genna had travelled thought this freezing wilderness to form an alliance with people who hated her, hated her family and wanted them dead. _The North remembers,_ isn’t that the words they said. Worst of all, her husband, Lord Emmon Frey expected her to beg the Northerners for forgiveness. _Lions did not grovel! Most certainly, they did not beg for forgiveness._

They had finally stopped and a light knock on the carriage door alerted Lady Genna that they had reached their destination. She sighed, she had no idea what had gotten into her inept and timid husband. The man had always been sullen and weak-willed. Emmon had always capitulated to her and her family, slinking away from confrontation, like a beaten dog.

The man had good qualities for sure, he was always faithful to her. The only bastards were her own and Emmon had loved their children, even the ones that were obviously not his.

Cleos had been Emmon’s, their first-born had her husband’s rat-like appearance and inept, timid manner. The young knight had fought with the Lannisters during the War of the Five Kings and had died somewhere near Maidenpoole. 

Emmon had cried when he heard of their son’s death. He had looked at her in contempt and said, in a shrill whisper, “This is Tywin’s fault, Lannister avarice and greed for even more power has brought us to this.” 

He had walked away from her then, ignoring her stern commands to return. It was the first time her husband had ever defied her. If recent events have proved anything, it wouldn't be the last.

She knew her husband felt guilty about the Red Wedding. She knew he secretly wished he had known of his father’s and Tywin’s plans for the Starks and their bannermen. _Would he have warned the Starks?_ It didn’t matter because he hadn’t known, and that eat away at his soul. Emmon had swore never again to remain oblivious to the plots and schemes of his family.

Soon after the Red Wedding, he had begun to associate with travelling merchants. Lady Genna hadn’t known at first what he was up too, nor had she cared, he was out of her hair. She found out later, that Emmon called them, his merchant spies, and paid good gold for their gossip. Recently that gossip had involved fantastical tales of the dead marching in the north.

“Lady Genna?” a second knock brought her back to the present. She sighed again and gathered her skirt. She shivered as a young handsome knight helped her from the carriage, and out into the cold, brisk northern air.

They had stopped on a wide snow covered plain, a large castle stood off in the misty distance. Winterfell she assumed, she had never been this far north.

The Castle already looked under siege. The forces of the Dragon Queen, the Unsullied and Dothraki were camped on the plain between them and Winterfell. 

She saw her husband off in the distance riding back and forth on a fine black palfrey, directing the construction of a large pavilion, where he hoped to parley with the King of the North and the Dragon Queen. 

If they were lucky, they would find only their heads separated from their bodies. They just as easily could end up roasted alive. Lady Genna recalled what had happened to Lord Randyll Tarly and his handsome young heir at the hands of the Dragon Queen and her beasts.

A lone knight had road to the gates of Winterfell, carrying a white flag and an invitation to parley. Emmon had sent one of the Tully soldiers, hoping the Starks would be more agreeable seeing the Army of the Riverland included Tully forces.

Lord Emmon rode up and dismounted. “…and now we face the consequences of our families’ crimes.” He said taking her hand and escorting her to the large pavilion.

Riders were heading in their direction, not northern knights, Dothraki screamers. The horsemen shrieked as they road in a wide path before the southern army, trying to intimidate the soldiers. 

Lady Genna looked over at her husband and for the first time she was proud of him. The slight shake in his hand as he held onto her elbow was the only evidence that the Dothraki’s had intimidated him.

A deafening roar echoed over the plain. Lady Genna gasped as she looked up at the dragon, no the dragons! Two of them circled overhead, another intimidation tactic employed by the Dragon Queen. 

Off in the distance Lady Genna could see movement on the Battlements of the Castle, Winterfell was watching them. _Planning our demise no doubt,_ Genna thought.

-oOo-

Lady Sansa watched the two dragons circle above the Army of the Riverland. She stood at Winterfell’s battlements watching the scene on the plains below unfold. 

“They are Freys!’” Arya scowled, Sansa was startled. She hadn’t heard her sister’s approach. 

“…and you are not objective,” Sansa replied, “That is why Jon did not ask you to join the parley.”

“The last time Starks were guests of the Freys, it didn’t go so well.” Arya said in a sinister tone.

“This is not the Red Wedding,” Sansa replied with a sigh.

“I can’t believe I missed one,” Arya said ignoring Sansa’s remark. “If I had only known a Frey was hiding out in Riverrun-,”

“From what I have heard, Lord Emmon had nothing to do with the Red Wedding,” Sansa said trying to be diplomatic.

“That didn’t stop him from benefiting from the slaughter… Mother…and Robb are dead,” Arya growled. “…and he now claims to be Lord Paramount of the Riverlands.”

“Arya-,” Sansa started to reply to her sister’s venom.

“You weren’t there,” the younger Stark sister sneered, “You didn’t hear the screams.”

Arya disappeared as silently as she had appeared. Sansa shuddered, wondering again, what had happened to her little sister? What had Arya witnessed that had made her so hard and unforgiving?

Lady Sansa made her way down to the front gate were she found Jon talking quietly with Ser Davos. 

“Arya doesn’t trust the Freys,” she told her brother, actually her cousin. She still wasn’t used to referring to Jon as her cousin.

“Aye,” Jon nodded, “she has told me, repeatedly, rest assured there are safeguards in place.”

-oOo-

The gates of Winterfell opened and a column of riders’ swarmed forward. Behind the riders, another column of unsullied marched solemnly. 

One of the dragons, the large black one roared loudly and swooped low to the ground. From the door of the pavilion, Genna felt her husband shudder slightly but otherwise he remained completely still. _They’re playing a game of intimidation,_ Lady Genna realized, bracing herself against the terror of the large black creature. _Warning us what will happen at the first sign of betrayal._

While the northern lords entered the pavilion, mumbles and taunts circulated around the large tent. 

“Red Wedding!”  
“Betrayal!”  
“Can’t be trusted,”  
“The North remembers!”

The North was letting them know that the Red Wedding was neither, forgotten or forgiven. 

The northern jeers had the desired effect on the Lord of Riverrun. Lady Genna looked at her husband and saw the reemergence of the old whiney and timid Emmon Frey. She saw it written behind his eyes. Guilt over what his…their families had done. Self-doubt that he wasn’t man enough to convince the North of their good intentions.

_Not the time or place to lose your nerve dear,_ she silently thought to her once-inept husband. She realized she had two choices before her, take charge or…

Lady Genna reached for her husband’s thin hand and squeezed slightly. Emmon looked down at her, as a smile formed on her lips, _you can do this._ The smile silently said. 

Emmon smiled back at his wife and raised himself up, squaring his thin shoulders and standing taller as he watched the Northmen find their seats.

“Cersei kept her word? We had heard differently,” Tyrion stepped forward, the first to speak after the long and tedious introductions.

“No, she has not,” Lord Emmon said succinctly and with only a slight shutter.

“Then why are you here?” asked the silver-haired queen, Daenerys Targaryn.

“To bend the knee…” Lord Emmon Frey replied, “…and to beg forgiveness, for the crimes…of my family and the family of my lady wife.”

“We have received word from Lord Edmure at the Twins,” The King of North said. “With my uncle holding the Twins, why do we need you?”

Several of the Northern Lords roared in agreement and called for their heads. Lady Genna looked up at her husband who didn’t outwardly flinch. Lord Emmon had steeled himself to the possibility that the north would not be very welcoming.

Sansa understood the concerns of the Northern Lords. They would never willingly accept help from Emmon Frey. The man’s father had plotted with Tywin Lannister, betrayed the north and murdered Robb Stark and many of the Northern Lords and their soldiers.

Yet, had they not already forgiven many of their former enemies? They had forgiven the Karstarks and Umbers for their treachery. Sansa had wanted to strip the families of their holdings and give their land to loyal lords. Jon had ignored her, refusing to blame the Karstark and Umber heirs for the crimes of their fathers, allowing the Alys Karstark and Ned Umber to pledge their loyalty.

Jon had even forgiven Theon Greyjoy as much as he could. Theon had rescued her from the Boltons, which had something to do with Jon’s acceptance of him, but it wasn’t the only reason. Theon and his sister Yura had controlled a navy of renegade Ironborn. Until, Euron Greyjoy had smashed their ships, scattering their forces and capturing Theon’s sister. 

They had also grudgingly accepted Tyrion Lannister. Of course, Tyrion came with a Queen who controlled dragons. Even though the dragons were vulnerable, the Night King had killed one. The two remaining dragons were still a deadly weapon against an army of wights. 

Emmon Frey didn’t have a navy or control dragons, but he had an army of ten thousand camped out on the plains south of Winterfell, with another army of perhaps five thousand more arriving within a few weeks. He had food and provisions, and a steady supply line reaching back into the Riverlands. Could they really afford to turn such help away, when it so generously offered?

Lady Sansa stood and waited silently for the room the quiet. “My lords,” she addressed the Northmen, “the men who ventured beyond the Wall to capture that creature…the wight and carry it south...sacrificed much to ask for aid from the Southern Crown.” 

Sansa paused and noticed the sorrow written on Queen Daenerys face. ‘My child was killed!’ the young queen had cried, after the Night King had killed her dragon. 

Lady Sansa coughed and continued, “Now that the south has answered our call, are we to complain and say that these are not, the right southern lords?”

“We didn’t ask for them!” came a shout from the back, “Freys! Lannisters!” several of the Northern Lords spit on the floor.

“Actually we did, the Southern Queen is a Lannister after all,” Sansa reminded them, “and if we turn down the first aid that is offered, the other southern houses will never answer our call.”

-oOo-  
 **Interlude at Sunrise**

The mountain floated behind the lower hills in wisps of clouds. The highlands of the Westerlands were not the sharp jagged peaks and gray stone of the Vale. The Western mountains were old, time had scratched deep crags and valleys from their ancient heights.

The Westerlands would have been beautiful in the spring, lush green valleys in the shadow of a mountain’s loving gaze. However, It wasn’t spring, and the mountains and valleys of the west rose and fell like ancient winds, peaceful and yet terrifying.

This beautiful land, Jaime given away, signed his name to the parchment naming Lady Genna Lannister Frey, Wardeness of the West. She would combine the military might of the west with her husband’s Army of the Riverlands and create a force equal to any in the North or South. 

It was in Lady Genna’s name, that they had rode into the west to call her banners and build her an army. Brienne, Jaime and Strongboar had passed under the Golden Tooth on the River Road with thirty knights and a parchment declaring Jaime, Lord Commander of both the Army of the Riverlands and the West.

Lord Emmon Frey had already marched half of their forces to Winterfell to start negotiations with the King of the North and the Dragon Queen. Brienne could only hope that had gone well. The North Remembers, convincing the North to trust a Frey would be difficult. She could only hope that allegiance to the living world, would override their mistrust of the southern Lord. 

They army had grown to almost one thousand, sense their arrival in the west. They had made camp on top of a large cliff overlooking a valley of icy crystalized trees. The sprawling camp stretched out on the precipice like a blanket of crimson. 

The sun hidden behind an outcrop of large rocks, cast bright waves of gold into the sky that soon faded to a greenish haze covered in dark blue. The night had not yet given up control of the sky when Brienne woke from a fitful sleep. 

“My featherbed is deep and soft,  
and there I’ll lay you down,  
I’ll dress you all in silk of blue”

The melody drifted into her tent from a campfire nearby, where several soldiers huddled in the crisp morning air. The song taking their minds away from an uncertain present, not as splendid or fantastical as the stories told in their songs. 

Brienne lay awake for several minutes just listening. She had always loved that song, recently it had become even more meaningful. Jaime had sung it to her while a blizzard roared through the Riverlands, trapping them for two weeks inside the old tower of Shadowmire. Although, Brienne was still positive they were singing the words wrong.

Dressing in a blue quilted gambeson and dark brown trousers Brienne stepped out into the brittle morning air, the soldiers stopped their song long enough to acknowledge her presence before returning to their entertainment.

Brienne nodded, before walking west toward the edge of the precipice. Across the valley, the first golden rays of the sun glistened off icy mountain streams cascading down to a large lake at the bottom of the valley. 

Thunder rolled over the vale so unexpectedly Brienne gasped. An old wood witch would have said, thunder in winter meant a heavy snowfall. Brienne looked up into the sky, the dark blue of night gradually fading away to a brilliant clear blue. The only clouds were small wisps of cottony fringe. _Thunder?_

A flash of pure blue, once before it was gone, on the far cliff face caught Brienne’s eye. She squinted into the dim morning light. At the base of the crag, a curtain wall and two large towers appeared out of the mist. _Was that Ashemark?_ She hadn’t realize they were already so close to the seat of House Marbrand. Jaime hoped to convince Lord Damon Marbrand to join their cause. The Lord had been one of his father’s most trusted generals and would be a valuable asset in the growing army. 

The scratchy crunch of footsteps on snow alerted Brienne of someone’s approach. She turned to see Jaime, alone for once, walking toward her. They hadn’t been alone together since they had left Riverrun. When Jaime accepted Lord Emmon’s offer, and became Lord Commander of his armies, his bannermen and especially Strongboar constantly surrounded the knight. Brienne felt a twinge of guilt for feeling abandoned. She realized Jaime had obligations. Nevertheless, she missed his company.

“Castamere,” Jaime said as he reached the edge of precipice. 

_Oh,_ Martyn’s ancestral home.

“Do you think he’s down there now?” Brienne asked. Squinting again, she could see the towers and walls of the castle were a ruin of cracked and shattered stone.

Jaime chuckled with a shrug, “can’t say I know how fast an old wizard and a lion can travel.”

“We couldn’t…?” Brienne asked.

“If Martyn is down there,” Jaime replied with a shake of his head, “I don’t think he’d want to see the approach of a Lannister Army.”

A gust of cold wind hurried up from the valley seizing a stray lock of Brienne’s blond hair, it twisted and turned in the wind. Jaime reached over and tucked the strand of hair and behind her ear.

Jaime’s hand lingered in her hair, desire in his eyes, before the noise of the waking soldiers, Strongboar’s loud and catching laugh echoing through the camp, drew his attention and his hand away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are Love :)


	12. Betrayal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime, Brienne and Strongboar travel to Ashemark to ask Lord Damon Marbrand to join in the fight against the darkness.

Chapter Twelve  
Betrayal

Ashemark rose on a cliff, like a candle above the shadows of the valley below. The mountain peaks of Castamere had turned to a rolling landscape of forested foothills and small valley farms.

The burgeoning Western Army, stopped to make camp several miles from the castle. They wanted to form alliances, not intimidate the lords of the west into hasty and reckless actions.

The thunder of hoof beats announced the arrival of riders. The mounted knights emerged from the forest, wave after wave. The experienced and skilled horsemen spread out in a wide arc before the Western army. 

The knights, outriders looked hauntingly majestic on their fine coursers. The horses’ breath rising in smoky waves as they snorted in the crisp winter air. Their front legs stomped at the ground impatiently. The horses wanted to run. 

A tall and slender knight emerged from the herd and rode toward Jaime, Brienne and Strongboar. The lanky man rode a spirited sorrel courser, and wore a leather hauberk, embossed with the Burning Tree sigil of House Marbrand. He removed is his helmet and shook his head to free his hair from its sweat and confinement, cascading like a waterfall, his dark cooper mane flowed down to his shoulders. 

With a generous smile, Addam Marbrand seized Jaime’s aim. In his youth, the handsome knight had served as a page at Casterly Rock, it was there that Jaime and the young man had become friends. Years later, the young knight would serve Tywin Lannister as commander of his outriders.

“…another pretty boy,” Strongboar snorted with a laugh, astride his large warhorse. 

Ser Addam Marbrand was handsome. The knight was slightly taller than Jaime, although thinner, his muscle longer and leaner. Marbrand lacked many of the battle scars and the strands of gray that had begun to show in Jaime’s hair. The only hint that the two knights were the same age was the slight crinkles around the corners of Ser Addam’s intense brown eyes. 

The knight reminded Brienne of a fox, a quick and deadly hunter. 

When the handsome knight’s eyes fell on Brienne, she saw, first the startled expression, and then the look of distain. She had seen that look before, so many times, _Is that a women?_ the look said.

Addam Marbrand’s eyes did not linger long on Brienne, she was nothing more than a cruel joke to him, beneath his consideration or contempt.

When Marbrand saw Crakehall, he laughed as he clasped the large knight’s arm, “Strongboar, you old warthog.”

“Did your father receive our messenger?” Jaime interrupted the exchange.

“He did,” Addam replied, turning back to Jaime, “…and he awaits you at Ashemark.”

Below the castle, a small town snuggled in the lower elevations. The village was unusually quiet, even in the cold winter night there should have been smallfolk, in the alehouses and brothels. Maybe they were frightened by the large army camped a mile away from the castle.

The Great Hall of Ashemark, splendidly arrayed with long grey Banners displaying the burning tree sigil of House Marbrand. Down a long central aisle, a raised dais sat with three large thrones. 

Damon Marbrand’s thick cooper hair had all but turned white, He perched on one of the thrones, looking down at the visitors to his castle in irritation.

The Lord of Ashemark stepped down from the dais and slapped Jaime hard in the face, “Perhaps you would explain to me, why you have aligned yourself…with wolves?”

Shallowing to contain his anger, Jaime stared back at the old lord. He could well understand the man’s rage. Lord Marbrand had fought with Tywin Lannister during the War of Five Kings. The King of the North, Robb Stark, had taken Lord Damon prisoner. The old man had never forgotten or forgiven the insult.

“My lord, there was a time for war between men,” Jaime replied, “that time is over, we fight for the living…the Long Night has come.”

“Phfft,” The lord of Ashemark said with sarcasm, “I fought for Lord Tywin, and he fought for the crown… a crown you abandoned and betrayed.”

Lord Damon motioned to his guard, who moved quickly to surround and disarmed Jaime, Brienne and Strongboar.

“Do you think the queen is so blind,” Lord Damon scolded, “that you can march through the Westerlands and not draw her attention?”

“Father...!” Ser Addam started to protest. However, the rage in this father’s eyes silenced him and he stepped back. 

The guards separated the prisoners, they led Brienne away in one direction, while they escorted Jaime and Strongboar in another. 

The small chamber, at least it wasn’t a dungeon, where they locked Brienne was high up in one of Ashemark’s oldest towers. They had made her wear an ill-fitting dress, her captures always seemed to want her to wear dresses. The grey gown, make from scratchy wool was too short, falling down only as far as her ankles. At least it wasn’t pink.

-oOo-

The guard was told the prisoner in the old north tower, was a mere woman. He wasn’t expecting her to hide behind the door and attack him when he arrived with her supper. The guard, carrying a large wooden bowl of vegetable stew, was surprised, when snatched his hands, the bowl suddenly became a weapon smashed against his skull. 

Staggering backward, before he could even comprehend what had happened, Brienne tackled the hapless guard to the ground. She landed on him and tried to yank the sword from his scabbard. In the struggle, the weapon flew out of their grasped and rattled as it hit the floor a few feet away.

Brienne punched the man repeatedly and with such force, he gurgled quietly and fell into unconsciousness. She reached for the sword, but before she could wrap her hand around the hilt, a booted foot stepped down on the blade. 

Brienne looked up into the handsome face of Ser Addam Marbrand. The knight smiled down at her as he kicked the sword away.

“Now we are going to have none-,” the knight started in a calm but intimidating tone.

Brienne shot backward and grabbed the discarded weapon, standing to meet the new threat.

Marbrand smiled at the challenge, a smirk rising on his handsome face, “You beat the Hound, or so I hear,” drawing his own sword and looking at her down the length of the blade. 

His attacks, swift and quick, quicker than Jaime’s had been, when they were enemies, and they had fought on the stone arched bridge. Although, Jaime’s hands had been bound and he had sat in a prison for almost a year. No such handicap hindered Ser Addam’s attacks.

He was leading, pushing her down the winding tower. Dust and cobwebs drifted in the gloom as they fought their way down the dark steps. The tight space hindered her larger more powerful swings. The claustrophobic stairwell didn’t bother the knight his swift darting jabs not needing the same amount of freedom.

The attack continued, jab, trust, parry. Every time she would gain an advantage, the knight danced away.

“Ooh,” He chuckled, “to slow.”

He was quicker than she was, but he didn’t have the stamina, she could tell that Ser Addam was tiring. If she could just block his attacks until his strength drained.

A quick flick of his sword left a deep slash on Brienne’s cheek, the saltiness of her blood trickling into her mouth. The pain and the taste of her own blood startled her, losing concentration for only a fraction of a second. That was all the time the swift knight needed.

He pinned her to the wall of the stairwell, his left arm pressed against her neck and his knee between her legs preventing her from dropping down or squirming away. His face lingered mere inches from hers.

“Now I see it,” he breathed into her face.

Brienne eyes flashed as she knocked her head hard into his, Addam staggered backwards just enough for Brienne to slide from his grip. Bringing her knee up to connect with his groin, he staggered backward with a dry exclamation of pain.

“…I Yield,” He said with a cough, raising one hand.

_What? Did he think we were sparring?_ She snorted raising her blade.

The knight coughed again and said with a hiss, “I’m not here to kill you! I’m here to rescue you.”

Brienne took a step back and stared at Ser Addam, a look of confusion spreading across her young face.

“What?”

“Ser Jaime and Strongboar,” the knight said, “…await at the postern gate.”

“Jaime?” she growled, “where is he? Take me to him now!”

Ser Addam lead Brienne down a long dark passage. He opened a hidden door that lead to another steep and winding stairwell. A small gate opened on the base of the hill. 

Jaime and Strongboar waited near the hidden postern gate. Marbrand had returned Jaime’s sword, Redemption and Strongboar held onto Oathkeeper. They turned when they heard the gate open, drawing their weapons.

The moment their eyes met Brienne rushed into Jaime’s embrace. She grimaced as the coarse hairs on his face brushed against her. Jaime pulled away to look at her and for the first time noticed the long gash on her cheek, He brought his hand up to lightly touch the wound, his fingers becoming sticky with blood. 

“What’s happened?" He asked.

“A little miscommunication,” Ser Addam admitted with a guilty chuckle.

Jaime’s face turned dark, he looked at Marbrand his muscles tensing, ready to knock the smug of the man’s face. Brienne clutched his arm holding him back.

“No, Jaime,” she pleaded, stepping in between the two knights. 

Jaime looked at her face, her wide blue eyes stubbornly insisting he remain calm. He sighed and nodded.

“Your father is not going to be happy about this,” Strongboar said turning to face Addam, purposely changing the subject.

“My father still lives in a…sane world,” Ser Addam Marbrand replied, “He failed to notice, when the world fell into madness.”

“You believe us then?” Jaime asked.

“I do,” Addam said, “…and I am going with you to fight for the living.”

-oOo-  
 **Interlude in Winterfell**

Lady Sansa wasn’t sure, how she felt about Emmon Frey, the small rat-faced Lord seemed troubled. A man haunted by the ghosts of guilt and failure. While the Northern Lords agreed the timid man hadn’t helped in the planning or execution of the Red Wedding, they still blamed him. Their contempt seemed to wear away at the meek man’s soul. Sansa had the feeling there was something more that feed the man’s guilt, she just wasn’t sure what it was. 

She had rode out to Lord Emmon Frey’s Command Tent, along with Lord Tyrion and Greyworm the commander of the Unsullied, and an escort of a small contingent of unsullied guards. 

As part of the negotiated peace, Lord Frey offered to supply the garrison at Winterfell with several wagonloads of much needed provisions. Lady Sansa had come to meet with Lord Emmon and insure the exchange went smoothly.

“I am sorry there isn’t room for another ten thousand inside Winterfell’s walls,” Sansa told Lord Emmon. 

The Northern Lords wouldn’t have allowed the southern army inside the walls even if there had been room. Was that the reason for Lord Emmon’s guilt? That he had lead ten thousand men north, only to leave them exposed to attack by the undead on the wide plain surrounding Winterfell. 

“We assumed Winterfell would be quite crowded,” Emmon replied, “We never expected to be housed inside its walls.”

Lord Frey directed her attention to the map of Winterfell and the surrounding area, laid out on the large table in the middle of the room. He pointed out the markings on the map representing a ten-mile long trench surrounding the castle and town.

“Our defensive plans should offer some protection for my men as well as the people of Wintertown.” Emmon said, “I believe there is also be enough room for the Unsullied and Dothraki who are, I believe also camped outside your walls.”

Winterfell had already been bursting with the Northern Lords and Freefolk, and had sparse room to spare. When Daenerys’ forces had arrived several weeks ago, there just wasn’t room and many of her unsullied and all of the Dothraki were still camped outside the walls. 

“Will this be enough to stop the undead?” Sansa asked.

“All we can ask is that it is enough to slow them down,” Lord Tryion added climbing up on a chair to study the plans, “I don’t think anywhere will be truly safe.”

The plans called for the construction of a long trench, twenty feet wide and fifteen feet deep, which would surround the castle and the village of Wintertown. Wooden battlements would reinforce the earthen walls, made from the dirt excavated from the trenches. Watchtowers stood every eighty yards along the wooden walls.

A second trench and wall beyond the first would create a gauntlet the army of the dead would have to pass. While Dragonglass arrows rained down from the watchtowers.

The plan also called for the construction of a number of trebuchets just outside Winterfell’s stone battlements. The large siege engines would launch clay jars of burning tar out onto the plains at the approaching army of the dead.

Construction of the new defenses had already begun. The trench and wooden barricade quickly erected, with the help of Queen Daenerys Unsullied. 

“These plans are impressive.” Tryion nodded in approval. 

“It pleases me you think they are mine,” Emmon laughed, “I am not a brilliant Military Commander, I am only following your brother’s instructions.”

Sansa and Tyrion glanced at each other guiltily after Emmon’s mention of Jaime Lannister. 

Sansa finally stated matter-of-factly, “The Northern Lords…as well as Queen Daenerys are not happy about your choice of commander.”

“Many of them are already calling for Jaime’s head,” Tryion added, “My brother is universally hated in the North.”

“More hated them me?” Emmon asked. 

“It’s different,” Sansa replied, “they fear Ser Jaime and…oh I am sorry, I didn’t mean to imply that…”

“No offence taken my lady, your words are true,” Emmon tutted away her concern, “I know, I do not inspire the fear…or the loyalty of Ser Jaime, only the hatred.”

“Might it not be best,” Tyrion said, “if you send a raven to my brother and tell him to stay in the South, maybe he could remain at the Twins and help Lord Edmure-?” 

“I would lose half my army,” Emmon answered, shaking his head, “I am not so foolish as to believe that it is I who inspire the respect and loyalty of my men. Ser Jaime must lead my armies from here.”


	13. Wild Flowers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime and Brienne are still in the Westerlands gathering an army. A misunderstanding causes Brienne to doubt their growing relationship.

Chapter Thirteen  
Wild Flowers

The small flowers spread their blue petals like butterfly wings in the crisp winter air. The Blue Winter daffodils grew in the light snow cover under the trees. The radiant blue of the petals were in sharp contrast to the dirty white of the snow.

Jaime found the flowers as he inspected the sentry positions around the perimeter of the camp. The delicate petals had reminded Jaime of the color of her eyes. He looked around to make sure no one was watching before he crouched down to gather the delicate blue flowers. It wouldn’t do for the soldiers to see their Lord Commander picking flowers. He chuckled to himself. _I hope she likes flowers._

-oOo-

The icy breeze fluttered lightly in Brienne’s pale blond hair as she stomped down the muddy path. The dynamic in the army camp was certainly… interesting. No, not interesting…it was annoying!

She had just dealt with another quarrel that had erupted between the Tully and Frey soldiers.

When they had travelled to the Westerlands, Lord Emmon Frey had suggested they bring a small consignment consisting of Frey, Tully, and Lannister soldiers.

“Show the Westerlands, we are forming an army of not just of the west, but the whole realm.” Lord Emmon said. “Let them know, it is the entire realm that will fall, if we fail.”

Strongboar and Jaime surprisingly still thought the idea had merit. They would, they didn’t have to deal with the fights and bickering that kept breaking out in the crowded camp. For some reason it was always her, the Lannister soldiers ran too when a fight broke out between the Frey and the Tully soldiers. 

She didn’t know what annoyed her the most, the Frey and Tully soldiers constant fighting, or the Lannister soldiers, who claimed they were trying to be diplomatic by not picking sides. They would simply stand around and watch as the Tullys and Freys quarreled. Only when the fight started getting serious would some little tattletale of a Lannister run and find her. 

“The Tullys and the Freys were fighting again,” the Lannister soldier would say, looking at her as if it was her job to fix it. 

She had wanted to scream at all of them all, “What? Are you five?” 

They had rode into the Westerland, a few weeks ago, with a mere thirty men, infantry and knights and since then the army had swelled. After Addam Marbrand had joined their cause it had grown even larger. The Knight was a natural leader and very popular with the soldiers and the female camp followers. The crowded army camp now numbered over eight thousand. Not including the camp followers, who had appeared shortly after the camp had started growing. Some of the camp followers were the wives and children of the soldiers, some were merchants, and most were whores. 

Brienne had been in enough army camps to know that whores followed armies on the march. That didn’t really bother her. The fight that had broken out between the Frey and Tully soldiers over one of the whores had bothered her.

Brienne was making her way to Jaime’s Command Tent, when she stopped in her tracks. A young girl was leaving Jaime's tent.

As the girl walked past where Brienne had stopped a satisfied smile lighting up her pretty face. She was young and fair with long golden hair and bright blue eyes. When she saw Brienne, the girl blushed brightly and dashed away.

A dull ache danced behind Brienne’s eyes. She blinked, trying to keep the tears at bay, as she hurried to her own tent. When Brienne was safely inside, she collapsed on her cot and let her tears flow, tears of sorrow and tears of anger. What was she thinking? Believing a man like Jaime Lannister would ever be in love with someone like her.

At Riverrun, when they both believed she was about to be executed, Jaime had told her he loved her. _Did it even mean anything?_

Brienne knew men had needs, and Jaime had recently left his sister and lover. If she were a true friend, she would be happy for him. Happy he was moving on from his unsettling relationship with Cersei. 

Brienne knew she was jealous and she hated herself for it. Even if he had taken a young lover, was it even any of her business? She had no claim on him. They were not married. They had not even laid together. Brienne had thought about it, but the idea scared her. She wasn’t afraid of losing her maidenhood. She was afraid she would disappoint him and he would leave. 

Wasn’t it better to hold onto a small part of him, his friendship and respect, than have nothing at all? Dreaming of more wasn’t for women like her.

Brienne buried her head in her pillow to mask her sobs. Sleep would help her see the situation clearly. Sadly, sleep wasn’t an option. A light wrapping on her tent alerted her to a presence outside her tent. 

“Mi’lady…um…Ser…are you in there?” The young voice called from outside. Despite her sadness, she had to smile at the timid greeting. She had gotten used to the younger soldiers calling her by both honorifics. They sometimes reminded her of Pod. 

“Yes,” she said stepping out into the crisp night air, “what is it?”

A young Lannister soldier looked up at her and smiled timidly. 

She knew what was coming, _another little tattletale,_ she thought. With a sigh she asked, “Who’s fighting now?”

“What...?” the soldier stuttered, “oh, no…no one’s fighting…Mi‘lady…Ser, the Lord Commander wants to see you in the Command Tent.”

“Can’t it wait until morning?” she sighed, she didn’t want to see Jaime tonight, “it’s late and I am really tired.”

“The Lord Commander said it was important, Mi’lady…” the soldier trailed off, following her as Brienne stalked off toward the Jaime’s tent.

Brienne stopped and turned to face the young man, “I don’t need an escort.”

“But…Mi’lady… it’s really dark and it’s late, as you said, and you’re a…” the young man had started to say, _a lady._ He stopped himself just in time.

Brienne rolled her eyes, during the day, the soldiers saw her as a leader, and Jaime’s second, equal to Strongboar or Ser Addam. She was listened too and respected, a situation different from the other army camps she had joined. The soldiers had mocked and jeered her in Renly’s camp. In Robb Stark’s camp, the Northmen had usually just ignored her. No one ignored, mocked or jeered at her in Jaime’s camp. 

However, the attitude of the soldiers seemed to change at night, many of them, especially the younger soldiers, actually became overprotective of her after dark. That hadn’t happened in other army camps either. Maybe this camp was just different…no not different, it was downright odd. It was as if the young soldiers actually believed she turned into a helpless maiden after the sun went down. 

When she arrived at Jaime’s tent the same sentry as earlier stood outside. The guard gave her a warm smile and nodded once, before he let her inside. 

Jaime was leaning over a map of Westeros laid out on the large table that dominated the room. He wore a red leather jerkin, which looked amazing on him, _dammit!_

Brienne had expected to see Strongboar and Ser Addam hovering around, but the neither knight was anywhere in sight.

“You wanted to see me?” She asked dryly still shaken by his earlier exploits. _Did you fuck her here in this room?_ She wondered, shuddering slightly as she remembered the young girl’s contented smile.

Jaime looked up and a warm smile spread across his handsome face, as he walked over to her and pulled her into his arms.

Brienne refused to give in to the dull ache rising from between her thighs and edging up her stomach to explode under her ribs. She forces herself to remain completely still and stiff in his embrace. 

“It feels so good to hold you again,” his throaty whisper brushed her ear, before he noticed she hadn’t returned his embrace, “What’s wrong?” 

Brienne paced over to the other side of the large tent, she needed space between them. She gave him a severe look, and scoffed “You called me all the way over here, just for a hug?”

“Well…yes,” Jaime smiled, “yes I did.” He looked so handsome when he smiled. _Dammit! dammit!_

“Where’s Ser Lyle and Ser Addam?” Brienne asked looking around the large tent. The two knights were usually lurking around somewhere.

“Clegane Hall,” Jaime replied.

That was, interesting, “Why?” she asked, “The Mountain is loyal to the crown.”

“Not the Mountain,” Jaime replied, “The Castellan at Clegane Hall has asked for our aid.”

“What aid could they possibly want, are you sure it’s not a trap?” Brienne asked, curiosity getting the better of her.

“I don’t think so,” Jaime said, “Gregor Clegane, is a brute and his people hate him. I sent Strongboar and Addam along with his Outriders to assess the situation.” 

Jaime closed the distance between them, just as several books stacked on the other side of the large tent caught her interest. She stalked over to the books picking one up and studying its cover.

Jaime looked at her in confusion, before continuing, “The Castellan, a Ser Quinton, has heard that Sandor Clegane, the Hound…You know him?”

Brienne nodded. She had fought and defeated him. The Hound was a gruff, but honorable man.

“Well, Ser Quinton heard the Hound has declared for the Starks. He wants the Dragon Queen to knight Sandor Clegane and name him Lord of Clegane Hall.”

“There is a coup…at Clegane Hall?” Brienne asked in surprise looking up from the book’s cover.

“Yes, it appears there is.” Jaime chuckled. 

“I don’t think the Hound wants to be a knight or a Lord,” Brienne said, remembering Clegane’s gruff words when she had called him Ser, _'I’m no knight!'_

“He might not have a choice,” Jaime replied, “Ser Quinton has offered a hundred men, and a steady supply of provisions, but only if Sandor Clegane is named the Lord of Clegane Hall.”

Brienne had to laugh, “I can’t wait to see the expression on his face.”

Jaime had edged closer to her as they talked and was again standing next to her. He took the book from her hands and smiled, “There it is.”

“There what is?” she asked, _had the subject changed?_

“Your smile,” He said running a knuckle along her lower lip.

Brienne scowled and turned away.

Jaime ran a finger along her freckled ear, “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she growled brushing his hand away.

“Then how come you are treating me like…” Jaime said, “…like the Kingslayer?”

“I am not,” raising her chin high, she said in a tone that disputed her claim.

“You are,” Jaime replied, “talk to me, have I done some-” 

“You don’t owe me a bloody explanation,” Brienne snarled to fight back the tears, “and I don’t owe you one!”

She tried escape, but Jaime blocked her path, “Yes you do…because I love you and you love-.”

“I saw her,” Brienne blurted out, her lips trembling slightly, 

“Who?” Jaime asked in confusion, “Who did you see?”

“That girl,” Brienne said, refusing to look at him, “young, pretty, golden hair. I saw her leaving your tent.”

“Who?...Oh, you mean Agnes, she did me a favor, something none of my squires knew how to do.” 

“I can imagine,” Brienne said dryly and tried once again to escape.

“Are you Jealous?” Jaime chuckled and holding her shoulders to prevent her from darting away.

“No,” Brienne scoffed.

“Gods, you are.” Jaime said in amazement, a sly smile, spreading across his face.

“I am not,” Brienne frowned looking away and stubbornly refusing to look at him.

“Agnes is Ser Cameron’s daughter, she is a nice girl, and I am totally not interested,” Jaime said picking up a lose stand of pale blond hair and tucking it behind her ear.

Jaime moved his hand down to her chin, turning her face to meet his emerald gaze, he searched her eyes for the trust that had once been there. “Do you trust me?”

Brienne paused, and for second, thought about denying it, but she knew she couldn’t, she never could, trembling softly “…yes.”

“Close your eyes,” Jaime purred. 

Brienne sighed, and closed her eyes. A moment later, she felt as something was placed lightly on her head. 

“Beautiful,” Jaime whispered in her ear. 

Brienne opened her eyes and looked up trying to see what he had put on her head. Reaching up she pulls a wreath of delicate blue flowers from her hair. Brienne looked at the flowers in confusion. _He gave me flowers? Why would he give me flowers?_

“Believe it or not, I used to know how to make them.” Jaime laughed. “I can’t anymore…the hand…and most squires haven’t a clue how make flower wreaths.”

He took the wreath from her hands placed it gently back in her hair. “Do you mind very much that I asked Agnes to make it?”

“Jaime,” She stuttered, “Of course not…I thought…”

“I saw the flowers this afternoon and thought of you,” Jaime whispered in her ear, “and the color of your eyes.”

Brienne sniffed as a single tear ran down face, she threw her arms around Jaime’s neck falling into his strong embrace. 

“Welcome back,” Jaime sighed. He leaned back slightly to look at her, desire shined in his green eyes as he studied her face, her eyes, and her lips. He entwined his left hand in the hair at the back of her head and pulled her forward.

Their lips had barely touched when the curtain blocking the opening of the tent flew open and a gruff voice said…

“Jaime Fuckin’ Lannister!”

They both looked at the dark shadow, which hovered in the doorway for a mere second before Bronn of the Blackwater stepped into the tent. The knight studied them, Jaime’s hand still entwined in Brienne’s hair. 

“Nice flowers,” Bronn laughed a mischievous glint in the steel blue eyes.

“My Lady?” another familiar voice said, as a second figure stepped from behind the tall knight.

“Pod?!” Brienne cried and hurried to the young man clasping his hands and smiling happily into his young face. 

Bronn grinned at their happy reunion before turning a knowing eye back to Jaime, a smirk rising on his lips. “We’re not interrupting anything are we?”

Jaime ran his hand over his face in frustration before walking over to the new arrivals.

“It’s good to see you Bronn,” Jaime said punching the former sell-sword on the arm, a friendly blow that was just a little harder than it needed to be, “your timing could have been better.”

“Aye, I bet,” Bronn tucked his hands into his belt and laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are love.


	14. Drunken Tales

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bronn, Pod, Jaime and Brienne share a happy reunion.

Chapter Fourteen  
Drunken Tales

The wind howled like wolves outside, slashing at the sides of the Command Tent with tooth and claw. Inside it was warm and dry. Warmer now that Podrick and Bronn had returned.

Brienne was so happy when Pod had suddenly appeared with Bronn, quickly forgotten was the fight she and Jaime had and its sequential happy resolution. Jaime had acted annoyed at first, but Brienne knew he was secretly pleased to see Bronn and Pod alive and well.

The four companions talked late into the night, drinking ale and telling the tales of their adventures. 

When Pod had returned to the Bronze boar Inn and found the room a ramshackle and Brienne missing, he collected her armor and immediately fled to find Bronn.

The former commander of the city watch still had friends in the Gold Cloaks and was able to uncover what had happened in the Bronze Boar. Bronn’s contacts in the city watch also warned them that he and Pod were next on Cersei’s list. They had managed to escape the city in secret before the city guard or the Mountain came for them.

Pod and Bronn arrived at the rock outcropping were Brienne was supposed to rendezvous with Pod if they became separated. They found the site empty and unused. Pod insisted they wait for over a week, before they sorrowfully turned north toward Winterfell.

Their trip north had been much more comfortable then Brienne and Jaime’s journey. Two men travelling together were less suspicious, and attracted less attention, then a knight with a golden hand and a tall blond woman. The two men slept comfortably and unrecognized in inns all along the Kings Road for most of their journey. 

They did have their share of adventures. Just past Darry, they had run into a band of outlaws robbing refugees fleeing the North along the Kings Road. Bronn and Pod had tracked the outlaws into the Vale, before killing the leaders and scattering the men into the Mountains. Where Bronn was positive, the Hill Tribes, before the next moon, would pick them off.

They stayed in small public house, in Palisade village, for several weeks while a blizzard roared through the Vale. Bronn had spent most of the time drinking and fucking the tavern wenches.

“How did you pass the time while you were trapped?” Brienne asked Pod.

“Well…” Pod said a little timidly, “Bronn knighted me.”

That news surprised both Jaime and Brienne they stared at the young man and the gruff knight in shocked silence before asking. “What now?”

Pod explained how one night during their stay in the small inn, deep in drink, Bronn had decided he had no need of a too old squire. He dragged Pod through the raging blizzard to the village sept and knighted the young man in front of the septum and several tavern wenches. 

“Ser Podrick Payne,” Brienne smiled happily at the young man, testing his new title out on her lips.

“I’m sorry My’lady, I wish you could have been there, but we thought you were…,” _dead,_ Pod tailed off remorsefully. 

“It’s okay Pod,” Brienne said, squeezing the young man’s hand, letting him know she wasn’t upset, “I’m proud of you.” 

“Well, even if we couldn’t be there,” Jaime announced, “we can still celebrate.”

Several rounds of ale went into the celebration of the new knight, Ser Podrick Payne. 

“When did you find out I wasn’t dead,” Brienne asked, “and how did you know where to find us?”

Bronn told them, how one night while dinking at an inn east of the Twins where the two knights had taken lodging for the night, they heard drunken tales of a grand army marching north to join the war against the Night King.

It wasn’t difficult to locate ten thousand men marching across the Riverlands. When they arrived in the camp, Emmon Frey remembered Bronn from the siege of Riverrun and told them where they could find Jaime and Brienne. 

“I knew you would be worried My’lady, so we rode as fast as we could.” Pod said.

Bronn laughed. “Aye, and here we are!” 

“What of your adventures, My’lady?” Pod asked innocently, “What have you and Ser Jaime been doing all this time?”

“…And don’t spare the details,” Bronn guffawed, which caused Jaime to scowl and Brienne to blush.

-oOo-

As the night wore on, Brienne began to feel light-headed from the ale. She rested her elbows on the table supporting her chin in her hands as she sleepily watched Jaime and Bronn talking at the other end of the table. 

Next to her, Pod had already falling asleep in his chair. His chin resting on his chest, and his arm dangling to the floor, Pod’s empty mug still clutched in his hand. Every now and again Pod would snort in his sleep and mumble before falling back to quiet snores. She turned her head in her hands to look at Pod, trying to decipher his mumbling.

“Just what the fuck is wrong with you?!” Bronn hissed from behind her. 

Bronn’s hushed but stern words broke into Brienne’s quiet contemplation of Podrick’s mumbles. She turned her head slowly back to look at the two knights. 

Jaime replied with a smirk and shrug.

“Let me get this straight,” Bronn said in a quiet yet urgent tone, “…the man gave you back your family’s lost ancestral sword, a valyrian steel sword no less, and you refused to take it.”

Jaime chuckled, “My father would be mortified.”

“Seven Hells, I’m mortified,” Bronn growled, “do you suffer from some kind of lunacy, which causes you to just give away priceless valyrian steel swords.” 

“I do give a lot of them away,” Jaime leaned back in his chair and laughed.

“I can see why you gave one to her,” Bronn motioned to Brienne, who merely blinked at him sleepily, “It’s the equivalent of giving any other woman a priceless diamond neckless.”

“She does love swords,” Jaime responded as he looked over at Brienne and winked.

Brienne just blinked back sleepily, at Jaime this time.

Bronn thought of making a coarse remark, but decided against it. Instead, he derided his foolish friend, “But some old wizard? You just met, who doesn’t even use, or need a sword.”

“I have no need two swords,” Jaime chuckled, raising his golden hand and waving it back and forth in front of his own face drunkenly. 

“Aye, but you know someone who does, someone you still owe a castle and a high born beauty-” Bronn said, starting his usual rant.

Jaime laughed and slapped Bronn on his shoulder, “You have my word, the next valyrian steel sword that comes into my possession, will be yours. And a Lannister always pays-”

Bronn shot Jaime a stern look before continuing, “I can’t leave you alone for a second, can I? What’s next, you plan on giving away Casterly Rock?” 

“Well actually-,” Jaime started.

“You didn’t?” Bronn looked over at Jaime who merely nodded, “Gods you did! What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

Jaime only shrugged and smiled smugly at the gruff knight.

“That’s it! I’m going back to Tyrion,” Bronn said shaking his head in disbelief.

-oOo-  
 **Interlude of Secrets**

“Lord Frey has a secret,” Bran stated in a tone that betrayed no emotion.

They had gathered in King Jon’s large solar, that had become a makeshift War Room, a map of the North laid out before them. The King of the North had finally granted Emmon Frey the privilege to join his council of war. The Army of the Riverlands, had after all greatly enforced Winterfell’s defenses. 

“He knew about the Twins…” Bran continued monochromatically.

“I knew it!” Arya growled emerging from a dark corner where she had been hiding, and drawing her dagger. There was murder in her eyes and she was looking straight at Emmon Frey.

“Arya!...where…” King Jon said, looking around, startled by her sudden appearance.

“He probably helped plan the whole thing,” Arya sneered.

“No…I…I didn’t know…” Emmon cried out in confusion. He had heard Brandon Stark couldn’t lie and was never wrong. But he hadn’t known about the Red Wedding and it still haunted him.

“The other massacre at the Twins,” Bran said dully, he paused to look at Arya before he continued, “Lord Frey knew someone planned to kill his family.”

Emmon Frey staggered backward and sighed, “I..I suspected.” 

“You let your family die?” Daenerys asked in shock. She would have given anything to have saved her family, but she had been a baby during Robert’s Rebellion. 

“I…my merchant spies informed me, my father had purchases a large quantity of Abor Gold,” Emmon said as if in a daze, “I knew my father better than that…he would never waste good wine on bad children.”

The old man sat down and shuddered, as he remembered his crime.

“…and when I was told,” Lord Frey continued, “…the ingredients for a powerful and tasteless poison was purchased at the same time.…I didn’t tell my family what I suspected…I didn’t warn them.” 

Emmon sniffed and tried to contain the tears that threatened to pour from his tired eyes. After a short pause, he looked up into the faces of his confessors.

“…They may have been nasty little shits, the lot of them,” Emmon sniffed, “but they were my family, my brothers, my cousins and nephews,” Emmon said in wretchedness, “I loved them…I did…as unlovable as they were, I loved them, they were my family...”

Emmon huffed and looked down at the floor ,“…and I let the die.”

“Why?” Surprisingly, Arya asked.

“They deserved it, didn’t they?” Emmon shuttered, “It was justice.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are love


	15. Not Vengeance…Only Justice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime and Brienne have finally made it to WInterfell. But the north isn't quite ready to forgive and forget.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 14, 15 and 16 are really, all one big chapter. I broke it up into three because it was too long. I am going to try to upload all three this weekend. It depends on how many of those weedy typos I find

Chapter Fourteen  
Not Vengeance…Only Justice 

The trees appeared to part as a sea of crimson washed over the tree line and onto the wide plain. In the distance, from atop the tallest stone tower of Winterfell, a single horn announces the arrival of the living.

Jaime, Strongboar, and Bronn remained on their horses watching as the column of soldiers march over the lowered drawbridge spanning the wide trench, and into the earth and wood castrametation that surrounded Winterfell. 

Ser Addam Marbrand made a grand show of riding in with his Outriders. The proud southern knights looked impressive on their fine coursers. Their parade wasn’t just for show the Outriders were a deadly military force. Jaime was sure many of the Northmen watching from the walls of Winterfell would remember the military strength of Ser Addam and his Outriders. 

Brienne and Pod road at the end of the long column and joined the three men at the gate. With a flick of his eyes, Jaime motioned Bronn and Strongboar to the Command Tent where Emmon waited for their arrival. The two knights chuckled as they rode to meet Lord Emmon. Pod had also moved a short distance away to give them some space.

“I must go and find Lady Sansa,” Brienne said as she looked into Jaime’s eyes. 

Jaime nodded, “You made a vow to the Stark girls. I would never ask you to break it.”

Jaime leaned forward on his horse and brushed his lips against her ear, “I love you,” he whispered.

“I love you too,” her breath caught as she hummed into his golden hair.

Drawing apart, Brienne nodded and turned her horse, quickly reaching Pod and continuing toward the gates of Winterfell. She turned to look back at Jaime before she entered the castle. He hadn’t moved from his position near the gate of earth and wood barricade.

-oOo-

The Lady of Winterfell greeted Brienne and Pod politely when they entered the castle. After the pleasantries, Lady Sansa pulled Brienne aside and urgently said, “I wish to see you in my solar, as soon as possible.”

When Brienne entered Lady Sansa’s solar the young woman stood watching the flames dance in the hearth.

“You wanted to speak with me, my lady,” Brienne asked.

“Lady Brienne,” Sansa said clasping Brienne’s hands in hers. “It is good to see you back and unharmed, I feared the worst.”

Brienne could tell something was troubling the young Lady of Winterfell. Brienne smiled and waited patiently for the Sansa to speak.

“The Northern Lords, King Jon and the Targaryen Queen do not...approve of Lord Emmon’s choice of Lord Commander.”

“Ser Jaime?” Brienne asked, “he is-.”

“A good man, yes,” Sansa said, “I know that you respect and admire him.”

“I love him,” Brienne stated, startling both Lady Sansa and herself by the sudden admission.

Sansa could only stare at her tall protector, her eyes growing sad before she continued.

“That makes what I have to say even more painful.” Sansa sighed.

“My lady?” Brienne asked, a growing dread inching its way inside her stomach.

Sansa rang her hands together and replied, “They have called for Ser Jaime’s arrest and execution.”

“No…they can’t!” Brienne shook, her legs threatening to buckle under the weight of Sansa’s words, “he is here only to help!”

Sansa took Brienne’s hands and ushered her to a seat near the fire. Sansa sat down next to Brienne and continued to hold her protector’s hands.

“Please believe me…I argued against the decision,” Sansa said, “I can’t say I can ever forgive Ser Jaime for what he has done, to my family, and to Bran especially. But, we have already forgiven so many others.”

“It was Cersei,” Brienne shuddered, “he was under her control.”

“I am afraid the Northern Lords will not take being manipulated by a woman as an excuse for his crimes.” Sansa stated.

“I must warn him,” Brienne began to rise.

“It is too late, they will have already arrested him,” Sansa said, “I’m sorry, I didn’t want you to find out the hard way, at least now you can be prepared for what is to come.”

-oOo-

Brienne followed Sansa into the Great Hall. Benches had been set up on either side of a long aisle leading to a table on the far end of the large chamber.

The Northern Lords sat on one side of the hall, yelling for Jaime’s head. On the other side, Lord Emmon and Lady Genna sat with Strongboar and Ser Addam. The other lords and knights of the south that had followed Jaime north surrounded them. The south side of the room remained silent. However, they would have drowned out the north, if facial expressions could vocalize. 

Three chairs were set up behind the large table. The Dragon Queen and the King of the North, sat in two of the chairs. Jon Snow’s white Direwolf, Ghost rested contently under the table. The remaining seat remained empty, until Sansa stepped up and sat down. 

Brienne was pleased to see Sansa was one of the judges at least Jaime might receive a fair trial. 

Jaime was marched down the center aisle by two stiff guards, Queen Daenerys Unsullied. Brienne was relieved, at least they were too professional to abuse their captive.

Missandei stood and motioned to the dragon Queen, “You are in the presence of Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, rightful heir to the Iron…”

Shouts echoed into the Hall from the courtyard, everyone including Jaime turn to look at the Great Hall’s large doors.

Missandei looked at Daenerys, who nodded for her to continue, “…Rightful… rightful queen of the Andals and the First…”

Brienne noticed Arya looking up at the ceiling and fidgeting with her dagger. The young woman’s attention suddenly pulled to the door as another loud clatter and the sound of running feet drew everyone’s eyes to the doors of the Hall once again. 

Missandei looked at the queen who merely waved her to her seat.

King Jon motioned and several guards quickly rushed out of the Great Hall. 

Ser Davos looked at Jon, who nodded, “This is King Jon Snow, the King of the North,” Davos announced briskly and sat back down.

When it was her turn, Arya just announced crisply, “…and Lady Sansa Stark, Lady of Winterfell and Wardeness of the North.” 

“Ser Davos, would you read the charges?’ Jon asked.

Ser Davos stood and walked to the center of the aisle. The old knight eyed the piece of parchment in his hands suspiciously before he began to read. 

“Kingslayer,” Davos coughed, “Ser Jaime Lannister, you are accused of multiple crimes, against the realm and the North.” The old knight cleared his throat and continued. 

“Your crimes include regicide against your sworn king, His Grace Aerys Targaryen.”

Davos glanced at the Dragon Queen, who nodded, and motioned him to continue.

“…plotting to place a usurper on the Iron Throne. And the attempted murder of-” Ser Davos was interrupted as shouts and jeers erupted from the north side of the chamber.

“Sister fucker.”  
“Bastard kings.”

Jaime smugly smiled at three judges and looking to the tiny queen, said, “Most of those charges are as exaggerated as your titles…your…grace.”

_Why,Jaime why?_ Brienne thought, holding her head in her hands. Jaime was purposely antagonizing them. He was a golden lion cornered in a cage lashing out at the gawking zoo patrons. 

“How do you answer these charges,” Queen Daenerys said in contempt of Jaime’s remark.

A sneer appeared on Jaime’s lips, “Aerys? I did it. I admit it…and I don’t regret it.”

Daenerys leaned forward on her chair and glared at Jaime with venom. “You admit to the murder of your king, who you swore and oath to protect?”

Jaime refused to say more, did lions concern themselves with the opinions of dragons? The look in Jaime's eyes said, no they did not. He just returned the little queen’s fiery gaze. The only thing Jaime could think was, _She’s angry over the death of one mad man, while she is guilty of burning hundreds of my soldiers alive._

“As for plotting to place a usurper on the throne,” Jaime continued after a moment, laughing at the obscenity of the charge, “That would depend on which usurper you are referring, was it Robert Baratheon? Who I believe you also supported…” 

Jaime turned to look at the Northern Lords, all as guilty of that crime as he. His statement wasn’t lost on the Dragon Queen, who glared at the Northerners suspiciously. 

Instead of wisely stopping, Jaime continued haughtily, “Or do you mean, Joffery, Tommon…even Cersei, all of whom Robert acknowledged before his death, as his heirs?”

The Northern jeers started up again drowning out all other sounds. 

“Enough!” King Jon stood suddenly and shouted the Northern Lords to silence.

Tyrion stood up, “Your grace,” Tyrion said, “Many of us were on opposite sides during Robert’ Rebellion and the War of the Five King. Our loyalties to our families and liege lords...mattered once…to us all!” Lord Tyrion turned to look at the Northern Lords, daring them to deny it.

“The Kingslayer’s loyalty to his family is not what is on trial,” Daenerys stated taciturnly.

“Oh, but it is, Your Grace,” Tyrion replied, “Ser Jaime’s loyalty to his family and liege lord, our father, Tywin Lannister are the reason for this trial.”

Tyrion again turned to address the Northern Lords.

“Would any of you have willingly betrayed your own house or liege lord?” Tyrion asked, “…and yet you fault my brother for not betraying his.” 

Tyrion paused, for a moment to let it sink in, honor and loyalty to their liege lord, Ned Stark, was the reason many of them had rebelled, loyalty was important to the Northern Lords.

“The world has changed,” Lord Tyrion continued, “and our loyalties must now lie not with houses or lords…but with the living.”

The room fell quiet. Tyrion clasped his brother’s hand once, before he walked back to his seat. Tyrion had reminded the north why they were here and hoped it would be enough.

Most of the Northern Lords remained quiet, reminding them of the reverence they placed on honor and loyalty having the desired effect. 

Suddenly the doors burst open and a frightened guard rushed in and hurried up to the King. The man whispered something in King Jon’s ear before straightening up and waiting for the King to reply.

“I’m sure you can handle just one man, take care of it,” King Jon said and waved the man away.

“But…,” The guard started to say, but thought better of it and hurried away.

Daenerys and Sansa looked over at Jon with a question in their eyes. Jon only shrugged and turned back to the man on trial.

“Do you have anything else to say?” Jon asked, looking at Jaime and Tyrion.

“I have something to say!” Lord Emmon Frey stood and walked forward on shaky legs, “your grace…your grace…My Lady,” The old man acknowledged all three judges politely.

Emmon Frey received a few half-hearted hisses from the Northmen, which he tried to ignore. The old man fidgeted with his fingers until the northerners stopped hissing.

“I must protest the arrest of the Lord Commander of my army,” Emmon began, “and request his release immediately, so he can fulfil his duties of leading my army against the dead.”

“Lord Frey,” Jon answered the old man kindly, “I bear you no ill will, you and your men have helped immensely shoring up the defenses of Winterfell, but that cannot excuse the seriousness of this man’s crimes”

“Those defensives were his idea, not mine, if Ser Jaime is not releases I will be forced to take my army back to the Twins.” Emmon Frey stood as tall as his thin frame would allow, hoping they would take his threat seriously.

“You would leave?” Sansa asked. “I thought you were dedicated to helping the living defeat the dead.” 

“I thought the same as you,” Emmon said, and turning to the northerners, “all of you…but I see know that you care more for vengeance.”

“It’s not vengeance we seek…only justice,” a soft monochromatic voice said. All eyes turned to Brandon Stark the Three-Eyed-Raven had finally spoken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always comments are love


	16. Wizards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 2 of Jaime's trial.

Chapter Fifteen  
Wizards

“It’s not vengeance we seek, only justice,” Brandon Stark had said. Making it clear to all present that the young man wanted justice for act that had crippled him.

Jaime could laughed off the other charges. He couldn’t and wouldn’t laugh of this one.

Turning to face his accuser Jaime said, “Pushing you from that tower is my only regret…my only crime. The only one I will plead guilty…and the only one I will beg forgive-.”

“…and you shall not have it,” Brandon Stark said dully. 

The yells of the Northmen and the King’s demands for quiet, stopped suddenly when a loud crack of thunder reverberated through the hall and then…silence.

The large doors of the Great Hall swung open with a crash, and a figure in an old hooded cloak paused in the doorway. The mysterious specter held a large weirwood staff and from his gait, he was obviously not a young man. The only sound was the tap, tap, tap of the old man’s staff on the stone floor. Everyone in the hall gasped when a large lion padded in, following the old wizard up the aisle. 

“Your grace,” a panicked guard rushed in, “your graces…we couldn’t stop-.”

The tall man turned suddenly, his hood falling backward to reveal an older man with dark ash-brown hair streaked with gray and bluish-gray eyes. 

“Quiet,” Martyn ordered the guard in a hissed tone as his eyes darkened to black.

The guard clutched his throat with both hand and struggled to speak, but only a low gurgle escaped his open mouth.

“Martyn?” Jaime hissed, “What do you think you are doing.”

“Preventing some stupidity it would appear,” The old wizard replied with a smirk.

Ghost, Jon’s large white direwolf, rose to his feet, rattling the table, when the saber-tooth-lion entered the hall. A low growl rumbled deep in Ghost’s throat. 

Martyn smiled as he looked at the large wolf, “What’s this?” 

The old wizard reached out his hand, palm side down and said, “Why, aren’t you splendid, come here boy.”

To everyone’s surprise Ghost hesitantly inched toward the wizard’s outstretched hand, sniffing it once before letting Martyn stroke his white fur.

Martyn looked up at the shocked expression on the Kings face, “I have a way with…animals,” Martyn said with a laugh as he straightening up.

Martyn turned his attention back to the two large beasts, “Why don’t you two go get to know each other,” he said waving the lion and the wolf away.

The wolf and the lion padded over to a corner and plopped down in a tangle of white and gold fur, playfully snapping at each other’s faces.

“Just who do you think you are?” Daenerys stood and looked at the old wizard.

“I think, I am Martyn of Shadowmire,” Martyn laughed, “and who might you be?”

The training of the Unsullied was his downfall. The warrior moved to quickly and quietly and had a firm hold on Martyn’s arm before the old wizard had noticed him. “You will speak respectfully to the Queen.”

Startled by the man’s sudden appearance, Martyn’s eyes flashed to black as his head snapped around to face the Unsullied guard, “stop breathing,” Martyn ordered with a hiss. The Unsullied remained standing even as he struggled with ragged gasps to draw air into his lungs. 

“Release him at once,” Daenerys said hands clenched at her side.

“You still haven’t told me who you are,” Martyn said in contempt, “how do I know if I should even listen to you?”

Daenerys pressed her lips together and stared at the old man.

Brienne watched the exchange in confusion, she couldn’t figure out why Martyn was being purposely rude to the Dragon Queen. Was there something more there? As far as she knew, Martyn had been in Sothoryos for the last fifteen years and had never met Daenerys Targaryen. His apparent hatred for her didn’t make sense.

Missandei stepped forward, “you are in the presence of Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, rightful heir to the Iron throne and rightful queen of the Andals and the First men, protector of the Seven Kingdoms, the Mother of Dragons-.” 

Martyn started rolling his hand in a circular, get in over with motion, and tilted his head at the young queen, “You realize that man can’t breathe while your little songbird sings all your pretty titles.”

Daenerys looked at Missandei and nodded and the young woman stepped backward. 

“Now, was that so hard…” Martyn looked at the Unsullied the black fading from his eyes as he said, “Breathe.” 

The man dropped to his knees his face purple. He gasped quickly as air once again flowed into his lungs. 

“What do you want?” Jon Snow looked at the old man, “Martyn of Shadowmire.”

Martyn nodded and replied, “I want, to speak on behalf for Ser Jaime.”

“I don’t think you realize the severity of the charges,” Daenerys said. 

“Well, can someone please tell me what the charges against Ser Jaime are?” Martyn scowled at her. 

“He murdered my father!” Daenerys sneered. “He murdered the king he was sworn to protect.”

“Your grace,” Martyn scoffed the title, before continuing, “I am sure you know that your father was insane, but did you also know he planned to use wildfire to kill all of the inhabitants of kings landing.”

Jaime looked at Martyn in confusion, how could Martyn now that? He had told no one, no one except Brienne. Jaime turned to look at Brienne, her eyes widened as she shook her head, she hadn’t told the old wizard.

“How do you know this?” Jon said, asking the same question Jaime was silently wondering.

“Because I am a wizard and a greenseer,” Martyn replied, “I saw it happen and I am sure the Three-Eyed-Raven will verify my story. ”

Brandon Stark wanted justice, but he couldn’t lie, like the use of his legs, that ability was also lost to him.

“Burn them all,” Brandon said eerily as all eyes turned to him. “Aerys Targaryen cried as the Kingslayer shoved a sword in his back.” 

“That doesn’t mean-,” Daenerys started.

“There was wildfire under the city,” Bran continued dully, “the mad king would not go quietly into the night, he would take the inhabitants of Kings Landing with him, burn half a million people alive before he surrendered the city.”

“I can verify that,” Lord Tyrion added, “before the siege of Blackwater Bay, I uncovered the stockpiles of wildfire King Aerys hid under the city.”

Ser Davos stiffened in his seat, refusing to look at Tyrion. It was true many of the allies in the room had once been enemies. The trial was creating rifts in their alliance they couldn’t afford. 

Martyn looked straight at the Dragon Queen and continued, “I suppose you believe the life one king worth more than half a million innocent men, women and children?”

“Of course not…” Daenerys said with a shutter, “I didn’t know…” 

“There is another charge,” King Jon said, “one that can’t be so easily explained away.” 

Jaime’s head dropped, he knew what was coming.

“The attempted murder of Brandon Stark,” Jon growled, “when the Jaime Lannister pushed him from the old tower.”

Martyn, visibly surprised by this new accusation and could only stare at Jaime in shocked disbelieve. Although he was a greenseer and a wizard, he wasn’t as powerful as Brandon Stark, it was obvious he hadn’t known. The old wizard turned and looked at Jaime, a question written in his eyes

“Is this true?” Martyn asked in disbelief.

Jaime could only nod. 

“Why?” Martyn asked a slight tremble in this voice.

“I don’t know?” Jaime replied not able to look the old man in the eye, “To protect my family I suppose…to keep our sins a secret.”

Martyn thought highly of his ability to judge people. Like his ability to be good with animals, it wasn’t magical. It was just something he had learned during his long life. He had liked Jaime Lannister from the moment they met, even though he had every reason to hate him. 

In Martyn’s travels, he had meet many truly evil men and women, people who had something missing from their souls. He hadn’t believed Jaime Lannister to be one of those men, to be so callous to attempt to kill a child.

“I would know more of this,” Martyn said as he walked over to Brandon Stark and reached out his hand, “show me.”

“You are a greenseer, and a wizard,” Brandon said dully looking away from the old wizard, “…just look yourself.”

“I can’t,” Martyn shook his head, “my visions can’t be…controlled. You have to take me there.”

Martyn reached for Brandon’s hand again.

Brandon Stark sighed and took Martyn’s hand.

The Three-Eyed-Raven and the wizard stiffened in an instant as both their eyes flashed to white.


	17. What the Raven Saw

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 3 and the conclusion of Jaime's trial.

Chapter Sixteen  
What the Raven Saw

_The old tower is a maze of crumbling stone and brick. Sunlight and its accompanying warm autumn breeze drift in from the window, casting the inside of the chamber in light and shadow._

_Behind a rough-hewn wall, falling apart with time and weather Martyn and Bran could catch only shadowy glimpses of the Kingslayer and his sister the queen, their sighs filling the room._

In visions, Bran could still walk and still feel. Gone from his mind was the weight of a thousand other times and places, a thousand other lives. In visions, Bran was just there. He took an odd comfort in that.

However, there was no comfort in this vision, Bran sneered at the shadows, the emotions he could no longer feel in the real world, evident on his youthful face. Bran didn’t want to be here, a fact plainly written on his face. He had witnessed his fall from the old tower to many times.

Martyn was amazed at the lucidity of Bran’s vision. His own visions were often no more than mere snippets of images fading in and out in a haze of other unrelated metaphors. In his entire life, Martyn had only one vision that was this clear, this strong. He had been at Citadel, walking along the banks of the Honeywine River with Darra one minute, and the next he was at Castamere, forced to watch as his family die. 

“Are your vision always this…real?” Martyn asked running his hand across the stone, feeling the dirt under his fingers.

“Yes,” Bran replied, “yours aren’t?”

“No, not normally” Martyn replied before adding, “This isn’t a vision is it? We are really here, in the past.”

“Yes,” a familiar voice answered Martyn’s question, stepping from the shadows. 

“I thought as much,” Martyn said looking at the mysterious figure.

Bran gasped, “How? You’re dead?”

“Not during this present,” The former Three-Eyed Raven replied before turning to acknowledge Martyn, “Lord Reyne.” 

“Lord Bloodraven,” Martyn returned the greeting in a dull tone. 

A startled cry reminded the three ghostly witnesses of the scene around them. 

_The Kingslayer jumped up and rushed to the window as a very young Brandon Stark, startled by the queen’s sudden scream, fell backward.  
“Are you completely mad?” Jaime asked in a haughty voice, as he grasped the boy’s tunic pulling him back against the window. _

“He saved me?” the older Bran asked, “why?”

_The Queen screamed again, “He saw us!”_

_“I heard you the first time,” Jaime growled in response, glancing back at the queen._

“He’s not going to do it,” Martyn stated.

“He already has,” Bran answered in contempt. 

“No,” Bloodraven said, “He will not, and there are consequences of that…inaction...”

-oOo-

The tower faded away and they were back in Winterfell’s Great Hall. The trial, the Northern and Southern lords were gone.

_The hall was empty except for three women huddled together in the back. Tables and benches pushed against the bolted door blocked the entrance. On the other side of the large doors, the screams of the dead and dying echoed through the halls._

_The small dark haired woman stood as she clutched a dragonglass dagger, the bolted door complained and shuddered violently, it wouldn’t hold much longer._

_“Arya,” The tall blond woman screamed, “Get back!”_

“Is this…” Bran cried tears in his eyes, “Is this how my sisters die?”

“In this reality, yes,” Bloodraven replied, “the reality in which you are not pushed from the tower.”

“Arya, Sansa and Brienne are here, where is everyone else?” Bran asked.

“Dead or dying in the Long Night,” Bloodraven replied, “most died before.”

_The door collapsed. The screams from the corridors beyond had stopped. Only the screech of tables scrapping against the stone echoed through the Great Hall, …and Sansa’s screams, as the wights ambled on unsure legs though the entrance._

_Arya moved first, rushing the advancing dead, taking out three of the nearest creatures with the dragonglass dagger._

“Why doesn’t she use her valyrian steel dagger?” Bran asked.

“Joffery never tried to have you killed,” Bloodraven relied calmly, “Petyr Baelish never gives you the dagger and therefore it never came into your sister’s possession.”

_Brienne also pulls a dragonglass dagger from her belt, “Arya!” The tall woman shouted at the young woman. An ornate sword with a stag’s head decorating its pommel remains unsheathed at her side._

“The Kingslayer never gives her Oathkeeper?” Bran asked.

“In this reality, Brienne of Tarth and the Jaime Lannister never meet,” Bloodraven replied, “It is Renly Baratheon who gives her a sword to rescue your…mother and sister from Kings Landing. The stagshead is a fine weapon, but it is not valyrian steel.”

_Arya fell first, overpowered as wave after wave of the dead flood through the door. The waves of dead crashed into Brienne as she crawled along the floor trying to reach Arya._

_The wights suddenly stopped their advance, swaying back and forth, as an icy fog flooded the hall. In the back of the chamber, Sansa screamed again as the Night King stepped over Brienne and Arya’s lifeless corpses._

_In her hands, Sansa clutched a small dragonglass dagger, as the Night King approached she tried to plunged the black shard into his heart. Holding Sansa arm motionless, the tall specter stared down at her and into her soul. The dark specter reached up and ran a cold sharp finger down the side of her cheek. Ice crystals began to form where his finger had traced, spreading quickly to cover Sansa’s face in ice crystals. Her eyes flashed a crisp unnatural blue, as white streaks flow down Sansa’s long red hair._

“Stop!” Bran’s shout rang through the hall, directed at Martyn, Bloodraven, or the Night King he wasn’t sure which.

_As if responding to Bran’s pleas, the Night King stopped to regard the three ghostly witnesses to his triumph, before he took Sansa’s icy white hand and led her from the Hall._

The vision within a vision disappeared and they are once again in the old tower. 

“That is how they die?” Bran asked. 

“Yes, if you never become the Three-Eyed-Raven,” Bloodravan replied, “In that reality, Jaime Lannister did not push you from the tower and you traveled to Kings Landing with your family.”

“If he never becomes the Three-Eyed-Raven,” Martyn asked Bloodraven, “When you die, there will be no one to replace you?”

Bloodraven nodded, “No one will warn Jon Snow of the advance of the Night King, the ice dragon or the collapse of the Wall, until it is too late.”

“But he will…he does push me,” Bran said once again looking at the Kingslayer, the man he has hated for so many years.

“No,” Martyn said, shaking his head, “his trust in Cersei is complete, he believes you can be manipulated, convinced that you saw nothing more than dust and cobwebs.” 

“Westeroes will fall to the Night king,” Bloodraven continued, “the world will fall to the Night Queen…a much deadlier creature, who was once your sister, Sansa.”

“I don’t become the Three-Eyed-Raven?” Brandon asked, “Why?”

“Only a great loss can make a Three-Eyed-Raven,” Bloodraven replied. “The loss off my eye made me see…the loss of your limbs has made you fly.” 

“He has to push me? Doesn’t he?” Bran asked, “It’s the only way I can become the Three-Eyed-Raven.” 

Bloodraven nodded solemnly. 

“Make him do it then.” Bran shook, looking at the two older men. 

“Neither Lord Reyne or myself can affect the past,” Bloodraven replied, “nor can we enter the minds of men.”

“Action or inaction,” Martyn said, “It has to be your choice.”

_Jaime Lannister had already turned and started to walk away from the boy standing in the window. Trusting in his sister’s ability to manipulate and sow seeds of doubt._

“Only you have the power to affect the past,” Bloodraven said again.

“Time is running out Brandon Stark,” Martyn reminded the young man. “If you love your family...your sisters.”

Bran head snapped backward as his eyes turned glassy white.

-oOo-

Cold wrapped around Brandon Stark like a heavy cloak. The roaring fire in hearths of Winterfell’s Great Hall couldn’t fight back the biting cold, it was emanating from his heart as a thousand other times and places rushed into his mind.

At his feet the mysterious wizard, Martyn of Shadowmire had fallen to his knees after they suddenly transported back to the present. His staff, Stormbinger rattled to the floor as it fell from the wizard’s hands.

“You did it?” The wizard gasped struggling for air as he picked up Stormbringer and used it to help him stand. 

A wave of guilt thundered through Martyn’s soul. It was a horrific thing he and Bloodraven had asked the young man to do, warging into Jaime Lannister mind and taking control of the knight’s body, only to push his younger self from the window.

“No,” Brandon Stark said dully.

“Then how?” Martyn looked around nothing had changed Brandon Stark was still broken. Jaime Lannister was still on trial and the northern lords were still calling for his head.

“There are shadows of evil in all men’s souls,” Bran said, “The idea of killing the only witness to his sins, was already hidden deep in Jaime Lannister’s mind. I only had to manipulate him into believing it was his only option.”

“What are you saying, Bran?” Jon asked, his eyes wide in disbelieve, “What have you done?”

Bran looked at the King and said, “A necessary evil, to insured I became…what I am. To insure I became the Three-Eyed-Raven.” 

Branson Stark turned to look at Jaime and said, “There would be no justice in your execution…only vengeance.”

“You wish to spare his life?” Daenerys asked in surprise.

The Three-Eyed-Raven nodded and turned blank eyes toward Jaime.

“Jaime Lannister is the gold lion,” Bran turned his to meet Martyn’s gaze, “When lions hunt together.”

What? Martyn shuttered, rarely taken by surprise. Could Brandon Stark know of Bloodraven’s prophecy?

Jaime only nodded, he didn’t understand his connection to the Bloodraven prophecy, but whatever Martyn and Brandon Stark had witnessed had changed the young man’s mind. Apparently, Brandon Stark had decided to forgive him for his crimes. Jaime wasn’t about to wait around for him to change it back. The hall remained eerily quiet as Jaime surrounded by Southern Lords and knights began silently filing out of the Great Hall. 

“Martyn of Shadowmire,” Bran said monochromatically, breaking the silence.

The old wizard stopped and turned slowly to face Brandon Stark. Suspicious of what the Three-Eyed-Raven would say next.

“You have gone by many names,” Bran droned on, “Maester Martyn, Martyn of Shadowmire, Martin of the Mist, Maret Rey.” 

_Don’t…_ Martyn silently bagged, holding his breathe.

“There was another name…once.” The Raven said dully.

Silence returned, waiting for Brandon Stark to continue. However, the Three-Eyed-Raven would say no more. Martyn breathed a sigh of relief, Brandon Stark couldn’t lie, but apparently, he could to keep a secret. The old man nodded to the young man and turned to leave.

Brienne stopped him, “Martyn you can trust them, get it straightened out.”

The old wizard shook his head and tried to walk past her. He had hidden for over forty years. The only reason Jaime and Brienne had discovered his identity was they had stumbled on his old journals.

Jaime grabbed the old wizard’s arm, forcing Martyn to look in his eyes, “reclaim what’s yours, reclaim your birthright.” 

Martyn shook his head again. However, he hadn’t moved, considering the possibility. Suddenly he turned, and walked back to face the King of the North and The Dragon Queen, still sitting at the large table.

“Is there something more you would like Martyn of Shadowmire?” Jon Snow looked up as the mysterious wizard returned to stand in before them.

“Reyne,” Martyn replied, “it’s Martyn Reyne.”

“Reyne?...and how did you come by that name? It is a long time out of circulation.” King Jon studied the wizard face for any hint of falsehood, “Castamere was it?”

Martyn nodded, and said, “It is my name, I would like it back.”

The two monarchs looked at The Three-Eyed-Raven who only dipped his head acknowledging the truth of Martyn’s claim.

“Very well, by royal decree, I give you back your lands and titles,” Jon Snow said, “Martyn Reyne, Lord of Castamere.”

Martyn nodded and turned to see the face of Emmon Frey. The Lord of Riverrun was looking at Martyn as if he had seen a ghost. 

“Martyn Reyne?” Emmon asked a hint of recognition in his old eyes.

“Emmon Frey, it has been a long time,” Martyn said, “you got bald.”

Emmon looked at Martyn face, “It is you… it really is…I haven’t seen you in…sense you knocked me on my ass.”

“I believe, I called you-,” Martyn laughed, trying to remember events from over fifty years ago.

“Full of myself…like shit that has grown legs and walked, I believe.” Emmon chuckled, “you weren’t wrong.”

“In my defense, I was ten.” Martyn laughed.

“…and I was fourteen and still had no excuse for being an ass.”

-oOo-

A Chill winter wind scattered the morning mist, the large white tree loomed overhead the bright red leaves fluttered silently in the crisp breeze. Lord Reyne pulled his heavy cloak closer against the chill wind.

It had been over forty years since Martyn had laid eyes on a wierwood tree. The sinister face of the large tree in the godswood at Harrenhal wasn’t the last weirwood he had seen, but it often stood out in his mind, because of the heart-rending memories it brought back. 

Martyn and Ser Dain had rode to Harrenhal to warn Lord Whent of the Ironborn attack, after finding the burned bodies of the children.

“When lions hunt together,” A dull voice broke Martyn out of his inner desolation.

Martyn turned to look at the young Three-Eyed-Raven. A chubby young man wearing a black cloak of the Nights Watch pushed Brandon Stark’s wheeled chair over the beaten and hardened path. 

“What did the weirwood tree at Harrenhal show you?” Bran asked monotonously, looking up at Martyn. 

Martyn shivered remembering the vision that had originally sent him north, beyond the wall to meet the Three-Eyed-Raven, Bloodraven not Stark.

“A man…I thought he was my brother, Corwyn…but it wasn’t, he was already dead,” Martyn answered, “and he was following a raven north.” 

“That man …is the black lion,” Bran’s calm voice brought Martyn back to the present, “and he has already followed the ravens north to Winterfell.” 

“Who is he?” Martyn asked. “This black lion.”

“The gold lion, Jaime Lannister didn’t accept, when you tried to return, Brightroar his family’s ancestral sword,” Bran said, seemingly changing the subject. 

“He already had Redemption,” Martyn answered wondering why the subject had suddenly changed. 

“That is what the gold lion believed,” Bran said, “He failed to understand his own reasons.”

“Why are we talking about the sword?” Martyn asked, he sympathized with the young man, with so many other times and places constantly flooding his brain. It was a wonder Brandon Stark could stay focused on just one thing.

The Three-Eyed-Raven, nodded and continued, “Brightroar must be wielded by the black lion.”

“How will I know this man?” Martyn asked. If he was supposed to give Brightroar to the black lion, he wanted to make sure it went to the rights person.

“Well,” Samwell Tarly said, “he will look like your brother, wouldn’t he?”


	18. Winterfell Stands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Dead have arrived at Winterfell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This Chapter jumps around a lot. between different people during the battle. Hopefully it isn't to complicated.

Chapter Seventeen  
Winterfell Stands

“You don’t have to do this,” Genna’s shrill voice cried as she watched the young page fasten Lord Emmon Frey’s antique cuirass in place. “You’re not a warrior.”

“I was a knight, Genna…once,” Emmon replied to his wife curtly,“I was knighted by Ser Jared Blanetree.” 

“That was a long time ago,” she scoffed, “and you were never a very good knight.”

“Genna, I will be in the back, protecting the trebuchets,” Emmon said in a reassuring tone, “hopefully the wights won’t even make it that far.”

“And if they do?” Lady Genna said, looking him in the eye. 

“Then I will fight them,” he responded, “They need every man, woman and child, who can hold a sword. If we fail, the dead will overrun Winterfell and we will all perish.”

Lady Genna turned her back crossing her arms around her ample midsection. She didn’t want to look at him anymore. He was acting foolishly reckless and would soon be dead.

Lord Emmon, strapped a dragonglass dagger on his waist, before walking over to his wife and placing a hand on her shoulder, Genna brushed it away angrily.

“Genna-?” 

“Just go.” She hissed at him.

-oOo-

As Lady Sansa made her way up to the top of Winterfell’s high stone battlements, the horn in the north tower blew three times. A cold shiver ran down her spine. They were here. The dead marched on Winterfell.

Sansa saw Lady Genna, a cold wind rustled the old woman’s long gold and silver hair as she stood proudly at the edge of the battlements.

“Lady Genna,” Sansa said, “you shouldn’t be here, didn’t they show you where the chapel was?”

“They did,” Genna nodded looking up at tall young woman, “I prefer to be here. My army fights today as well.”

Sansa nodded in understanding. She had no wish to hide away in the chapel while others fought, not knowing when death would come. From their vantage point, they could see the entire field, stretching all the way to the forest beyond the earthen and wood investments surrounding the castle.

Sansa gasped as she saw, emerging from the tree line, an army of wights slowly lumbering forward. There was no order to the march of the dead. They ambled forward at different paces. Some of the creatures moved slowly dragging broken iron or stone weapons along behind them. Others moved fast, running forward in reckless abandon, quickly closing the distance between the forest and the first barricade.

Many of the creatures wore the black cloak of the Nights Watch, many more the ragged furs of the Freefolk. Sansa realized this might also be their fate, mindlessly ambling forward killing everything in their path.

-oOo-

Jaime looked out over the battlefield as the army of wights staggered forward. From the vantage point of one the tall wooden towers that lined the palisade he could see both the open field before the investment and the space between it and Winterfell’s high stone curtain wall, which included Winter Town, the camps of his two armies, and a large Dothraki village.

He glanced back at Winterfell the small folk of Winter Town who couldn't fight and camp followers who had shadowed his own army north were still filing into the castle.

He turned back to the battlefield. A murder of crows soared overhead and flew off toward the tall aspen forest. Jaime knew that would be the eyes of Brandon Stark. He didn’t quite understand exactly how a warg worked. Martyn had tried to explain the concept of warging, something about seeing through the eyes of animals. 

Manipulating another mind through magic, gave Jaime a cold chill, mostly because of Brandon Stark’s confession. Jaime wasn’t sure if he believed it, he remembered pushing Bran from the window, and he remembered it being his sin alone. That the Three-Eyed-Raven had somehow manipulated his mind coercing him into the act, made him feel conflicted with both anger and guilt.

Below him, the vanguard waited. If both palisades fell, they would be all that stood between Winterfell’s walls and the dead. Brienne was down there, somewhere mixed into the swarm of Unsullied, Northern warriors, Freefolk and his own Southern soldiers. 

He couldn’t worry about Brienne right now, she was a distraction. He looked back over the wide plain. Jaime raised his golden hand, and waited. When the dead passed the first marker, he let his arm drop. From the tallest tower of Winterfell, a horn blew in response, one quick burst, a second long blast. The dead had reached the range of the trebuchets. 

Jaime heard the thrup, thrup, thrup of the siege weapons, and large earthen jars soared overhead. The containers bursting into a blaze of fire as the burning tar smashed against the army of the dead. The fires stopped some of the creatures, but many more continued mindlessly walking forward.

“Loose!” Jaime’s voice echoed through the air and a volley of arrows launched, the dead had reach the range of the archers on the watchtowers. 

Blue lightning flashed over the battlefield. Jaime knew that would be Martyn, the wizard was on one of the far towers. His lightning magic arcing over the battlefield, it appeared his storm spells had some effect, the creatures struck collapsed in a twitching mass. Even if Martyn's magic couldn'’t kill them, it slowed the dead down long enough for the archers to take them out.

The dead continued to march forward stepping over the shattered bodies of their own fallen , to break against Winterfell’s defenses, like surf on an ancient shore.

Many of the wights looked like they had been dead for centuries, their mummified skin and rags of cloth only loosely holding their tattered bodies together. 

Daenerys Targaryen had said there was, at least one hundred thousand. _How many hundreds of thousands of people had died in the north in the last century alone?._ Jaime wondered, _there could be millions of them._

When the dead reached the first trench, they stopped, swaying back and forth in the crisp air. In the high tower, a horn blew quickly, the signal for a White Walker. Jaime scanned the battlefield for the ominous figure. It emerged from the tree line astride an undead horse that was half-skeleton and half mummified corpse.

The siege weapons kept up their endless barrage, Thrup thrup thrup, as the white walker rode forward on its corpse horse. When the earthen jars exploded over to the creature, the White Walker burst into flames. 

From the wooden watchtowers, the archers started cheering. The celebration cut short when the tall and deadly creature stepped through the flames, even as its horse and the wights surrounding it fell in the fires.

Hundreds of arrows flew, the White Walker shuttered as dragonglass shards impaled its cold body. The tall wraith paused in its march for only a moment before it exploded in a hail of ice and powdery snow, taking with it many of its wights, the undead creatures collapsing in a shatter of bone and dead tissue.

After the castle's defenders first success, the remaining White Walkers stayed out of range of the archers. Jaime could see the tall ghostly figures lurking just beyond the tree line. 

Some silent command ordered the wights forward. The creatures began to fall limply into the trench and climbing over each other to claw and fling themselves against the first palisade.

The earth and wood investment shuttered under the weight of so many bodies hurled against it. When the outer wall gave way, a loud crack echoed through the plain. 

The dead poured into the gauntlet between the two palisades, and met a rain of fire from the watchtowers. So far everything had gone according to plan, Jaime worried about the one variable they hadn’t known about before arriving at Winterfell, the ice dragon.

Jaime looked up into the sky, dreading the sound he knew would soon fill the sky, the roar of a dragon. They had started to build scorpions after Brandon Stark told them the giant beast had already destroyed the Wall at Eastwatch by the Sea, then the survivors began to stagger into Winterfell. Jaime had hoped before the first attack they would have more working ballistae. However, the attack had come and they only had two scorpions placed high up on Winterfell’s stone towers. 

Much to the chagrin of the Dragon Queen, he had ordered her dragons grounded. They couldn’t risk losing another of the beasts to the Night King. They would use her dragons only if the ice dragon made an appearance or they were overwhelmed. The battle hadn’t reached that point yet.

The two dragons remained safely tucked away in the godswood, waiting for his signal to bring them out, he hoped Daenerys Targaryen listened.

-oOo-

The second wooden palisade shuttered, Brienne trembled slightly as she stood in the vanguard. She could see Jaime on the watchtower, walking back and forth and talking to Addam Marbrand. The tall knight nodded before he hurried down the steps and ran toward the sables.

Her eyes met Jaime’s for only a moment. He looked down at her from the tall tower his lips press together in anger, worry, or annoyance she wasn’t sure which. They had argued before the battle, he had cajoled, pleaded and finally shouted at her to stay off the front line.

“You need protect the Stark girls,” he had argued. She knew he didn’t really care about the safety of Sansa and Arya Stark. 

Didn’t he see? There was no place safe, and they needed every warrior that could hold a sword on the battlefield. Even Jon Snow, the King of the North stood on the front line, only few feet away from her. 

Jaime disappeared from her line of sight. The unrelenting swarm of the dead that hurled themselves against the earth and wood inner palisade had drawn his attention away. A loud crack echoed through the air as the timbers collapsed in on itself. 

The vanguard, a motley of Northmen, Freefolk, Unsullied and Southern soldiers, tried to hold the dead back. To no avail, the wights kept coming, a torrent of dead flooded through the opening in the wall. 

The wight wore the long black cloak of the Nights watch, his face, it had been a he, once, remained forever youthful even in death, a shaggy head of light brown hair and only a hint of stubble on his chin. 

He must have only recently turned. His clothes slightly tattered and his greyish skin still tried to hang onto a semblance of life. The only thing that marked him as one of the countless dead was his glowing blue eyes.

Brienne wondered, _had he been a thief, a rapist, a beggar on the streets of Kings Landing, or was he just one of the countless downtrodden, who had joined the Nights Watch willingly, because he had lost all hope._

Than a more chilling thought crossed her mind, _was he taken at Eastwatch by the sea? When the Wall fell._

A few of the survivors of the Walls destruction, Tormund, Dolorous Edd and Beric Dondarrion amongst them, had staggered into Winterfell shortly after the Western army arrived. 

Brandon Stark told them of the ice dragon, but to hear it from the men who actually saw the beast, was terrifying. Brienne couldn’t help but to occasionally glance upward, expecting to see the giant beast on the horizon. 

The, once was, man of the Nights Watch, a faster wight, barreled down on Brienne with a speed she hadn’t expected. He gripped a steel sword that he swung with abandon. No skill in his attack, whatever training he had received in the Nights Watch was lost when he died. Brienne easily blocked his initial swing and pierced Oathkeeper up into his heart, which had stopped beating some time ago. 

A movement out of the corner of her eye alerted her to another wight. Its blue eyes stared straight ahead, as it stumbled forward. It was an older one, its loose and decaying skin hanging in folds from its skeletal body. The wight took no notice of her as it continued on its trek toward the walls of Winterfell. _What?_

A screech alerted her to the wight running straight toward her. Brienne stepped out of the path of the creatures. The wight didn’t turn, didn’t vary from its path, it continued to run unwavering past her and toward Winterfell. 

Jon Snow had also paused and stood a few feet away, through a sea of countless dead, as they crashed past them. He had noticed the same odd behavior, a question written in his intense dark eyes as several wights limped blindly between them, in total indifference to their presence.

-oOo-

“Move!” Emmon shouted as he pulled out his dragonglass dagger, motioning to the women who had operated the Trebuchets. They were about to be overwhelmed. The siege crew had to retreat before the guard closed Winterfell’s large gates.

The fastest of the wights dashed toward the gate and the fleeing women. Emmon kicked his horse forward to intercept the deadly creatures, before they could reach the women. The old man slashed at the creatures, knowing he only needed hold the tide back until the trebuchet crew made it safely inside Winterfell. 

He turned to follow when he noticed one of the women hadn’t yet fled. He recognized her as Arya Stark. She stood in the path of the advancing wights wielding an elaborate valyrian steel dagger. 

He looked back at the other women they had already made it to the entrance. A chubby guard motioned for him to follow quickly, before the dead could reach the castle, before he had to close and bar the gate. 

To his horror, when Emmon turned, he saw a wave of dead crashing over Arya, engulfing her in their wake. Emmon rode his palfrey back through the dead, no skill was needed just hacking and slashing at the creatures as they washed passed him. He reached down into the foam of dead and pulled Arya Stark out. She gasped for air and clung onto his arm as he dragged her onto his horse.

Emmon turned and tried to retreat to the gate, the dead clawed and slashed at his horse’s flanks, the animal shrieked and reared up, throwing Emmon and Arya from its back before a sea of wights crashed over the frightened animal. 

Clutching Arya’s hand, Emmon ran toward the gate. Reaching it a moment too late, the tall gate had slammed shut. Emmon Frey and Arya Stark turned to face the dead. 

-oOo-

“Arya…No!” Sansa cried, drawing Genna’s attention to the scene unfolding below near the front gate.

Lady Genna gasped as she saw the wights surround her husband and the younger Stark sister. Emmon had pushed Arya Stark behind him, using his body as a shield to protect her from the tearing and slashing of the dead. 

A horn blew once from the north tower, tearing their eyes away from the deadly scene below. At the Wall, the signal meant returning rangers. In Winterfell, it meant the return of the living. The wights surrounding Emmon and Arya suddenly collapse in heaps of old rags and dusty bones. There could only be one explanation, a White Walkers had fallen. 

Without any warning the remaining dead, turned and ran in jagged haste toward the opening in the contravallation. 

Lady Genna looked across the wide plain. The shadows of horsemen moved through the thick aspen forest.

-oOo-

The dull thunder of hoofs echoed through the trees. Addam Marbrand had led his Outriders and a number of Dothraki Screamers to circle around Winterfell and flank the undead army.

Jaime had told him to watch for the White Walkers, apparently if one fell, all the wights it had raised would also fall. 

The Dragonglass sword was unwieldy in his grip. Its balanced was off and it was heavier than his own sword. The King of the North, Jon Snow, had assured him it was the only thing, other than valyrian steel, that could kill one of the foul creatures. Ahead of him, he saw the spectral figure of the White Walker, standing in a mist of ghostly fog and dull wights. 

The White Walker turned. Its face was a thing of nightmares. White, icy, mummified skin, stretched taut against a bearded face and unblinking blue eyes, which stared straight into Addam as it raised a sword of clear crystal ice. 

The brave knight had to fight the urge to turn his horse and flee from the terrible specter. Leaning forward, he swung the sword, aiming to strike off the creature’s horrifying head. The White Walker shuddered as the blade broke against its cold body. Addam reined his horse, turning to witness the creature explode in a cloud of snow and ice crystals. 

As more White Walkers fell before the Outriders and Dothraki, the dead began to scuttle back through the forest, disappearing a quickly as they arrived in a mist of haze and snow. 

They had succeeded in flanking the undead, killing several White Walkers and turning the tide of battle.

-oOo-

Arya followed the two guards as they carried the broken old man into the infirmary.

Jon had ordered her to stay inside Winterfell and protect Sansa, but she hadn’t trusted Emmon Frey. She had been positive the shifty old man would run from the battle, leaving the trebuchet crews alone and defenseless. She planned to kill him before he got that chance.

She was wrong. When the siege weapons were overwhelmed, Emmon Frey had stayed behind to protect the women until they reached the safety of Winterfell’s walls. He had even come back for her, although it meant he couldn’t make it to the entrance before the gate closed.

The guards dropped Emmon Frey roughly down on an old straw mattress and hurried away, the man was badly bruised and broken, but so were many others.

She stayed with him, holding his wrinkled, thin hand until a woman came and dressed his wounds.

“Genna?” The old man mumbled in fitful sleep, his eyes fluttered opened, looking, before closing again with a sad sigh.

The next time his eyes opened his wife was sitting by his side. “You’re here?” he smiled weakly, looking up at his wife’s vivid green eyes.

She only nodded as she looked down at him, patting his arm once, before clasping her hands together on her large lap. 

He had wanted to ask her before the battle, but she had angrily told him to _‘…just go…’_ before he had the chance.

He moaned softly, “Genna, did you ever love me?” 

Stunned by the unexpected question, _Why ask this now?_ Lady Genna could only look down at her unfortunate husband. Their fathers had arranged the marriage when they were both children, _love had nothing to do with it._

“I’ve grown accustomed to your face,” she said, pressing her lips together and standing, she bent over and patted his thin face before leaving him alone with his thoughts. 

“I was only fourteen,” the old lord said as he looked up at the ceiling, “but I loved her from the first moment I saw her.”

“You never told her?” Arya asked, emerging from the shadows where she had hid when Lady Genna arrived.

The old man pursed his thin lips together and shook his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always Comments are love.


	19. Party like it’s the End of the World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WInterfell has survived the first attack of the Night King and the people want to celebrate.

Chapter Eighteen  
Party like it’s the End of the World

Jaime smiled at the revelers in Winter Town, it was a wonder that such warmth and happiness could still exist in such a cold and scary reality. 

They had fought back against death and they had won. Yes, it was only one battle, but Winterfell still stood. It was understandable the people, noble and smallfolk alike, wanted, needed to celebrate. 

There was a part of him, which wanted to shout at the revelers, _‘The wars not won.’_

He didn’t, because he knew Winter Town needed this. They needed to feel safe. They needed hope. So much hurt had already befallen the northern town. Many of the buildings still bore the fiery scars from when Theon Greyjoy and the Ironborn had tried to burn Winter Town to the ground. After that, the small folk had suffered over a year of Bolton occupation. Yes, they needed to feel a small shred of hope and he wouldn’t be the one to take one night of joy away from them.

Most of ‘the fancy fold’ as Bronn called them, were attending the grand feast in Winterfell’s Great Hall. That held no interest to Jaime. He probably wouldn’t have been welcomed anyway, even though it was his plan that had saved Winterfell. To their credit, a few of the Northern Lords had swallowed their pride and shaken his hand after the battle.

His Aunt Genna would be attending the feast and there she would be in her element. With wit, charm and good manners, Lady Genna could probably do more to mend the fractured relationship between the South and the North then anything Jaime ever could do on the battlefield.

Jaime chuckled to himself. The guests at the grand feast didn’t know what they were missing. He couldn’t imagine anything could any more fun than the celebration surrounding him in Winter Town. 

Music and dancing filled the market square. It was cold, but no one seemed to mind as the happy shouts of celebration echoed through the stocky lumber and stone buildings of the northern town.

Jaime wasn’t the only one who thought the celebration in Winter Town was more interesting than the grand feast. Earlier in the day, he has seen Martyn entertaining several children with magic tricks, even Jaime could see through. 

Although, it wasn’t that surprising, for some reason the old wizard disliked Daenerys Targaryen. Jaime had reason not to like the Dragon Queen, she had burned his men alive, but he couldn’t figure out why Martyn hated her. Jaime reminded himself to ask Martyn about it later.

Now that the sun had gone down, more of the guests had escaped the feast. Jaime had seen many of them walking through the market square, laughing and joining in the celebration of the small folk.

Strongboar was currently trying to sweet talk the miller’s widow. The large knight’s loud laugh overpowered the shouts of joy and even the instruments of the musicians.

Tormund had come up to him and slapped him on the back. Maybe a little hard, but Jaime didn’t mind, he understood the red haired warrior’s reasons. 

The Wildling had been friendly when he and Jaime had first met. Although, he did joke coarsely at Jaime’s expense. All of the Wildlings Jaime had met, were more accepting of him, than the Northern Lords. They were less likely to judge other people’s actions. In the far north, they knew people did what they had too, to survive. 

When Tormund found out Jaime was competition for Brienne’s affection. The large Wildling was at first a bit hostile. That had changed after Brienne had shot him down several times and Tormund finally backed off.

Addam and Bronn appeared to be in some kind of competition, how many women they could fuck in a single night. He had spotted both knights walking through the streets with more than one woman on their arms.

He was positive he had even seen Arya Stark walking arm in arm with that youthful blacksmith, the one that looked like a young Robert Baratheon. 

“There you are,” a familiar voice said. Jaime turned to see Brienne standing amidst of the revelers. The trim of her long fur lined cloak coated in mud.

Jaime suddenly forgot he was still mad at her for insisting on standing in the vanguard. He walked up to her and pulled her into his arms. To his surprise, she was wearing the blue satin gown his aunt had given her at Riverrun, half hidden under the long cloak. He hadn’t know she had kept it.

“You’re wearing a dress?” He chuckled. 

“I can wear a dress,” he laughed, before admitting. “Lady Sansa found it in my belongings and insisted I wear it to the feast.” 

Jaime took her arm in his as they walked through the square. They stopped to watch the dancers and a complete stranger handed them each a mug of strong northern mead before capering away.

Brienne took a small sip of the mead and said, “They expected you at the feast.” 

“I didn’t think I would be welcome,” Jaime replied looking down at the thick brown mead and taking a drink.

“They know who saved them,” she sighed, “most of them anyway.” 

Jaime just shrugged. He didn’t regret missing the feast. He was enjoying the celebration in town. 

“I never realized what I was missing, when I attending all those fancy feasts in Kings Landing and Casterly Rock.” Jaime smiled, “This is much more fun.”

Jaime put their mugs down and grabbed her hand, twirling her around the dancers, until they were both exhausted and laughing. Brienne’s face was flushed with excitement, her mouth slightly open. He couldn’t resist and leaned in to steal a kiss. She noticed the incoming kiss, dodged with a sly smile and a twinkle in her beautiful blue eyes, _and was that a giggle?_

 _She’s playing,_ Jaime realized, the joy of the celebration having broken down even her hard exterior. He kept trying to steal kisses. She managed to dodge most, but not all of them as they danced through the square. 

After several minutes, Jaime grabbed Brienne’s hand and they wondered away from the market square. They strolled arm in arm down a quiet street of quaint rough-hewn lumber and stone cottages. Enjoying the sound of celebration, that was gradually fading away behind them. 

Jaime stopped in front of a two-story cottage, pinning her against the door and nuzzling her neck until she turned her head enough for him to catch her mouth with his. 

“Isn’t this where you are quartering,” she asked looking at the cottage suspiciously.

Jaime nodded slyly, “with Bronn, and Strongboar, it’s hideous.” 

“Are they here?” Brienne asked. It sometimes seemed like every time they started kissing someone would suddenly appear and intrude. Martyn, Strongboar, Bronn it was as if they all had some kind of sixth sense, and knew when she and Jaime were getting too close.

Jaime shook his head and said as he pulled into his arms, “they’ll be celebrating all night.”

She was shy at first, biting her lip as he laid light kisses, on her eyelid, her ears, her nose and along her chin, until finding her mouth. She held her hands on either side of his face as he leaned in for another kiss. Brienne sighed into his mouth as his tongue found hers. 

Reaching below her thick cloak Jaime ran his fingers over the smooth satin of her dress, up her toned stomach, until he found a small breast, her nipples hard from the cold night air or the excitement of the moment. 

Brienne inhaled sharply at his exploring touches, a shiver ran through her body.

“Is my lady cold?” He asked in a throaty whisper, pushing her through the door, His hand lacing into her hair and pulled her into a hungry kiss.

“Ahem...,” a sudden low voice broke their passion, letting them know they were not alone. 

Two sets of intense bluish-gray eyes stared up at them. Bronn and Martyn were sitting near the hearth. Jaime had never realized the two men looked so similar. They shared the same dark ash-brown hair and the same bluish grey eyes. 

Kevan lay before Martyn’s feet, his paws in the air. The large lion opened his yellowish-green eyes and blinked at Jaime and Brienne before falling instantly back into a deep sleep, as only a cat could.

“I believe, we might be intruding,” Martyn chuckled, “Why don’t’ we take our conversation elsewhere?”

Bronn stood up and nodded at Jaime with a knowing laugh, “Details…tomorrow,” he whispered, poking Jaime in the gut as he walked past.

The Saber-Tooth-Lion yawned and stretched, having noticed that his humans were leaving. Kevan got up and padded after Martyn and Bronn. With a huff, he bumped into Jaime, almost knocking him over as he waddled out of the door.

“I didn’t know they knew each other,” Brienne said after the two men had left, raising an accusing brow at Jaime, she added, “…and what’s this about details?”

“Wishful thinking,” Jaime snorted, as he took off first his cloak and then hers, throwing them aside before engulfing her once more into his strong arms.

His left hand roamed over her back. His touch over the smooth satin felt so amazing she trembled at each soft caress, Brienne let out an involuntary whimper, which only encouraged farther exploration. 

While continuing to place light kisses around her face, Jaime ran his hand down past her waist to her thigh, pulling the satiny gown up and rubbing the soft fabric against her leg.

Brienne wrapped her long arms around Jaime’s neck and sighed as he laid light kisses down her neck. She hadn’t even noticed they had moved, until Jaime pressed her against the door to his chamber. 

He held her face in his hands, one warm and one cold. “Say no, I won’t force you.” He whispered, searching the endless blue sea of her eyes for any sign of doubt. Gods she has amazing eyes.

Brienne quivered when she realized, what he just said, where she was. The lust in Jaime’s emerald eyes made it clear what he was asking. 

She nodded, reaching up to cover his hands with hers, “I want it to be you.”

He sighed, nuzzling his nose in the curve of her neck as he pushed her inside the room.

Jaime turned to latch to the door. There was always a chance Strongboar, Bronn or even Addam could barge in, drunk and stupid.

When he turned around Brienne was standing in the middle of the room, her arms crossed over her small breasts, her hands clasping her shoulders tightly. 

She trembled and could barely hold back the tears as she glances around the room. She looked very much the innocent young maiden, terrified and not knowing what to expect, _and that is exactly what she is,_ Jaime realized.

“We don’t’ have to-,” he started to say, misunderstanding her tears.

“No Jaime,” she cried, “it’s…what I want. I want it to be you.”

“Then why the tears,”

“I’m afraid, I might wake up,” she sighed, heat rising to her cheeks.

“You dream of me?” he hummed, tracing the line of her cheekbone with his knuckle.

She only whispered in all seriousness, “All the time.”

“...and I dream of you,” he replied and pulled her into his arms. His hand traced the slight curve of her back, bunching and pulling on the satin fabric of her gown. 

A thrill ran through her veins, like a maiden at a grand ball and Jaime was leading her backwards, emerald and sapphires dancing in the dim light of the single candle on the table. When they reached the bed, he gently pressed her down.

Brienne sat on the edge of the bed and looked up at him as he pulled his shirt over his head. Old and new scars laced his chest. Not even scars couldn’t masked the beauty that was Jaime Lannister. 

He thought about leaving the golden hand on for only second. Cersei had always insisted he wear the hideous thing while they fucked. 

While trapped in the tower of Shadowmire Jaime had stopped wearing the cumbersome gold hand. His damaged right arm never bothered Brienne. He took of the hand and dropped it to the floor. 

She proved his intuition right when without the slightest flinch she wrapped her long fingers around his right arm and kissed his damaged stump tenderly, before looking up into his eyes. 

He sat down and ran his hand over her neck and down her shoulders. Under his caresses, Jaime could feel the scars from where the bear had clawed her neck. She stiffened under his touch, until he kissed her neck and over the scars. 

“A little rough and Frayed around the edges, but still very, very beautiful.” He purred into her neck as he kissed along the scars. 

His breath tickled her neck, caused her to involuntary giggle, and hunched her shoulders up. 

Brienne risked a tentatively touching his chest, running her long finger over the lines of his muscles. Her soft caresses sent his heart beating and his cock throbbing. Jaime pulled her close and she could feel his strong chest rubbing against her breasts through the thin satin fabric, which sent a tremor through her body.

“A little help,” He moaned into her hair as he struggled with the laces of the gown. After a little tugging, and a small tear, they managed to rid her of the dress. She shuddered under his gaze, wearing only her small cloths and heavy boots. Jaime chuckled, only Brienne would wear heavy boots under a satin gown. 

Her face questioned his timidly, not knowing what to expect. For all her strength and bravery, she was still an innocent young maiden.

He gently pushed her down onto the bed, resting on his right elbow. He gazed into her eyes, as his left hand explored her body, enjoying her expressiveness at each new sensation. 

When his fingers ran over her nipple and she hissed in response. Arching her back and allowing Jaime to slip his right arm under her back to pull her closer. 

He traced a line down the middle of her breasts over her stomach and to her small cloths, tracing his fingers along the edge of the linen fabric, before slipping his hand beneath the linen fabric.

The dull ache between her thighs became almost unbearable as he ran his fingers over the hair between her legs.

Jaime’s lowered his head down to her breasts his tongue licked at a nipple, before tasted the hard nipple, teasing it with his tongue, causing Brienne to moan and whimper his name. 

Jaime kissed his way up her chest, over her shoulders and back to her face and a sly smile appeared on his lips, her eyes widened in alarm and pleasure as his fingers reached her nub and circled around until she inhaled sharply and trembled in his arms, her toes clenching and her hand clutching at his strong arms.

He slipped a finger inside, gradually loosening the tightness, all the while rubbing his thumb against her. Brienne world shuttered as she felt herself losing control, she tried to stop it, not knowing what was expected and fearing she wasn’t doing it right.

“Do you trust me,” he purred in her ear. In his eyes, golden flecks dance around, like fairies in an emerald green forest.

Brienne could only nod she had lost the ability to speak.

“Don’t fight it,” Jaime breathed into her mouth, kissing her deeply, “let it happen.”

Brienne nodded, lowering her guard and letting the new sensations overwhelm her. She lost control over her limbs and her hips as she ground against his hand. 

Jaime moaned, “Come to me, Brienne.”

She threw her head back to screamed, until the trembling stopped. 

When she opened her eyes, he was smiling down at her, his hand absentmindedly tracing the curves of her breast.

“That was…was amazing,…I’m…um, am I not a maiden anymore?” She asked, not really understanding.

Jaime chuckled at her innocence, “oh no, there’s more.”

“More.” she gulped down and nodded for him to continue.

Jaime stood up and stripped off his books and breeches, before turning back and helping Brienne take off her boots and small clothes…

-oOo-  
**Interlude of Hunting Lions** -

Jaime woke up with Brienne asleep in his arms. Leaning over he brushed his lips against her brow. Still asleep, she moaned in annoyance and tried to brush the insect that was buzzing around her head away. He smiled and held onto her, content just to lay still with the women his loved in his arms.

Until his bladder told him, it was time to get out of bed. He untangled his arms from her body and stood as the chill of the morning hit him like an icy ocean wave. After relieving his bladder in the chamber pot, Jaime dressed and left the bedchamber.

He found Bronn in the common room, next to the hearth. The knight was polishing Brightroar. The golden valyrian steel blade flashed in the light from the hearth casting the room in a warm orange glow. Jaime had never seen valyrian steel with a gold hue, even with its simply carved lion hilt the sword was amazingly beautiful. 

Martyn’s large saber-tooth-lion, Kevan, was laying on the floor in front of the fire. Jaime looked around he didn’t see Martyn anywhere. 

He crouched down to scratch Kevan’s large head, “where’s Martyn?” 

“Out doing wizardy stuff,” Bronn laughed, “we get the joy of cat-setting today.” 

“We?...You volunteered,” Jaime laughed, “You’re doing it.”

Bronn nodded with a sigh, doomed to his fate of a day of keeping the large beast out of trouble. The lion itself wasn’t a problem. Kevan would sleep most of the day. Going outside would be a problem, the people of Winter Town had hardly time to come to terms with a direwolf and two large dragons, now they had a giant saber-toothed-lion to content with. 

He hoped Martyn wouldn’t be gone that long. The old wizard was meeting with Brandon Stark and Samwell Tarly, something about prophecies.

A mischievous grin appeared on Bronn’s lips, “I don’t suppose I’ll get any details?”

“Not a one,” Jaime replied giving the former sell-sword an annoyed glance.

As he stood up Jaime motioned to the sword Bronn was polishing. “Martyn gave you Brightroar?” 

Bronn nodded, “Well, as it turns out, I am the black lion, whatever the fuck that is.”

“You’re the black lion?” Jaime asked aghast, “How did that happen?”

“You’re not going to believe it, hells I don’t really know if I believe it.” Bronn said with a slight smirk.

“Just try me,” Jaime said as he sat down next to the hearth.

“According to that Stark kid, the little magic one,” Bronn chuckled, “Martyn is my long lost uncle.”

“The Northerners say the Three-Eyed-Raven doesn’t lie, it might be possible.” Jaime replied.

“Maybe,” Bronn said, “but my parents never said anything about being related to the Reynes.”

“They wouldn’t have, would they?” Jaime raplied, “My father would have had you all murdered in your sleep.”

“We talked to that Stark kid, the Three-Eyed-Raven, after we left here last night,” Bronn said, stopping his work and looking into the fire, “He said the man I always thought was my father…wasn’t.”

Jaime looked over at this friend waiting for the man to continue.

“He said...my real father,” Bronn continued, “was your uncle…Kevan Lannister.”

Jaime raised his eyebrows. While trapped inside the tower at Shadowmire, he and Brienne had read all of Martyn’s old journals. Jaime knew about the bastard child his uncle had with Martyn’s sister, Avilynn Reyne. The affair had happened many years before his uncle had met and married his wife Dorna. 

Martyn had recorded finding out about the affair in his journal. He also wrote that his sister had lied about who the father was, to Kevan and to most of her own family. At the time, there was tension between house Reyne and house Lannister, and Avilynn hadn’t wanted her child caught in the middle. Martyn was the only one who knew the truth.

Although Jaime didn’t know Bronn’s exact age, it was possible he could be that child, if the baby had not perished in Castamere with the rest of the Reynes. 

“I thought Avilynn Reyne and the child were killed at Castamere.” Jaime said. “Martyn saw them die, in one of his visions, he wrote about it in his journal.” 

“According to The Three-Eyed-Raven, she…they…we…weren’t there.” Bronn said. “Apparently Martyn’s visions aren’t always accurate.”

Jaime laughed as he suddenly realized, “we’re cousins.”

“Aye, I guess we are.” Bronn replied, and then gave Jaime an annoyed look, “Don’t think that gets you out of your debt…you still owe me a castle and high-born beauty for a wife.”

“You’re Martyn’s heir,” Jaime smirked, “you already have a castle…Castamere.”

“You mean the one your family broke?” Bronn replied shaking his head, “No thanks, you owe me a castle that ain’t busted.”

Bronn finished polishing Brightroar and stood up to slide the sword into his scabbard. 

“I meet him once,” Bronn said, a faraway look in this bluish gray eyes, “Kevan Lannister…with Tyrion, before the Battle of the Green Fork.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To tell the truth Im a little scared to post this, I hope its good.   
> We knew it was going to led to this effectually, but eeek!!


	20. Deadlock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the Night King continues to attack Winterfell, King Jon decides to evacuate all the civilians to the Twins.

Chapter Nineteen  
Deadlock

Winterfell stands, stubborn, an unbreakable will to survive against the deadly mass thrown against it walls. It had stood against four attacks by the dead. Every battle had gone much the same. The dead would amble forward ignoring the living in their haste to breach the castle’s walls. After the Outriders had killed enough White Walkers to weaken the invading army, the dead would scatter as if rain drops into a forest.

Jaime and his knights, the King of the North and the Dragon Queen along with their advisors, had gathered in Jon’s War Room. By the forth attack, no one resented Jaime’s presence. He had gained their respect and admiration. Even the Dragon Queen had softened to his presence, especially after Jaime had shared his memories of her mother.

“You’ve fought these creatures before?” Jaime asked Jon Snow, “Have you notice anything unusual about their behavior?” 

“Aye,” The King of the North answered, “they seem almost uninterested in the living.”

“Unless you block their path…their path to Winterfell,” Jaime wondered aloud, “Do they usually act in such a manner?” 

Jon shook his head and explained how the creatures had always mindlessly attacked anything living, men, women, children, and even animals. At Hardhome the wights only destroy the fortification when it stood between them and their living prey. 

“They test our defenses,” Greyworm, the leader of the Unsullied suggested in his unfamiliar accent. 

“I agree the first attacks were a test of our defenses,” Jaime nodded, “That still doesn’t explain their odd behavior. It’s almost as it they were after something…something inside Winterfell.”

“What does he want?” Greyworm asked, “And why doesn’t he use his dragon and kill us all?”

“My Outrider scouts report the creature is here,” Ser Addam added to the conversation, “lurking in the shadow of the forest, the Devil just doesn’t use it.” 

“Ser Jaime is right, he’s after something,” Jon said, “something he doesn’t want damaged with dragon fire.”

Samwell Tarly appeared in the door with a message. He handed it to Jon and sat down next to Bran and Martyn.

“Lord Edmure has sent a raven,” Jon said, after he read the message, “The dead have not attacked the Twins directly, only small skirmishes, no White walkers, and he says the wights they have fought, appear almost…Lost?” 

“He doesn’t attack our supply caravans either.” Jaime said, “This has to be the worst run siege I have ever seen.” 

Emmon Frey limped forward, the old man was still weak from his injuries and walked with a cane. “This is good news, isn’t it?” Lord Emmon asked, “as long as he is bottled up here, the rest of the realm is safe.” 

“So, we are in a deadlock,” Jon Snow said, “But, he has unlimited forces, and we lose people in each attack. Effectually he will whittle away our defenses.”

-oOo-

When the King of the North decided his sisters and the other civilians would be safer at the Twins, Sansa and Arya were very vocally opposed to the idea. 

“There needs to be a Stark in Winterfell,” Sansa had growled.

Jon only replied sadly, “No, there needs to be living Stark,” Before he walked away from her, refusing to argue any further. 

Arya had also complained, insisting she was a better fighter than most of the garrison, which was probably true. However, Jon insisted she go south and even threatened, if she didn’t go willingly, he would have her bound and thrown into the carriage.

Even Lady Genna had been stubborn. At first, she ordered Lord Emmon to go with them. When her husband refused to abandon his army, she also announced she would be staying at Winterfell.

Only Brienne had accepted her fate calmly, although she didn’t look happy about leaving. The conflicting emotions evident in her eyes.

The biting snow and blowing wind of the eternal night of winter gnawed at the faces of the people gathered in the courtyard. The sun had shriveled into a green haze in the dark of perpetual night. 

“The Stark girls need you,” Jaime said, “you were the one who said, we don’t break our oaths just because they are inconvenient.” 

She knew her oath to Sansa and Arya Stark was not the real reason he was sending her away. Although, he was right she had sworn an oath, she just hated that he had thrown it in her face. 

“You said, you would never leave me,” Brienne growled at him, studying her boots and refusing to look him in the eyes. Actually, Brienne was the one leaving, but Jaime hadn’t argued against the decision. 

“I promised you a happily-ever-after.” Jaime ran his hand down her cheek and raised her chin to meet his gaze, “spring will come again. I promise…and then you and I will sail to Tarth and I’m going to ask your father for your hand.”

“You can’t promise that.” She sniffed.

“If you say yes…say you will marry me,” he replied, “and nothing will keep me from you.”

Brienne nodded, and sniffed a shy, “yes,” before she let him draw her into a long embrace.

-oOo-

The long line of civilians stretched out over the plain as the caravan lumbered toward the Twins. Jaime watched from one of the watchtowers as Brienne rode away. 

He knew she didn’t want to leave him, nor did she want to leave Sansa and Arya unprotected. Jaime felt a tinge of guilt for using her sense of honor and loyalty to trick her into leaving.

Jaime agreed with King Jon’s decision to evacuate the civilians. Especially now that there appeared a glimmer of hope, while the Night king was distracted trying to take Winterfell, he ignored the Twins and the rest of the realm. 

The king had put Brandon, Martyn, Tyrion and Samwell on the task of researching what the Night King could be after. Theories abounded, especially in Winter Town where the small folk came up with numerous conspiracy theories based on ancient myths. Martyn listened to all their stories, saying they shouldn’t discount anything. Sometimes the legends of the small folk could have more validity than all the books in the Citadel. 

The caravan just turned a bend and entered the forest when Jaime heard the deafening roar. The creature he had dreaded appeared over the horizon, the ice dragon swooped low, over the castle as it flew toward the caravan, laying a path of icy fire down onto the plain as it glided into the forest.

“Oh gods no,” Jaime cried.

“Jaime!” Bronn ran toward him, “the dragon-,”

“The caravan is under attack,” Jaime shouted to Bronn as he ran for the stables.

“Time for lions to hunt,” Bronn said following Jaime to the stables. Bronn looked off to the south, where the ice dragon was still hovering over the thick forest, “why does it always have to be dragons?”

-oOo-

First, the ice blue flame disintegrated the trees in front of the caravan. Then the wights attacked the refugee fleeing to the Twins. They were supposed to be safe the Night King had never before attacked the supply caravans.

Brienne knew she had to get to Sansa, Arya and Genna. The terrified horses had dragged their carriage deep into the forest when the ice dragon appeared and rained blue flame down in front of them. 

Brienne flicked her reins and chased after the carriage. Her horse suddenly reared when the White Walker appeared. The phantom stood silently in the road staring at her. She drew Oathkeeper and flicked the reins of her horse galloping at the the vile creature. 

Knocked from the horse as the creature blocked her swing, the White Walker, slowly walked toward her. Brienne had just enough time to gain her footing before the creature swung its icy sword down at her. 

Brienne was able to block the first attack, her arms stung from the clash of swords. She had never felt such a strong blow, not Jaime or Tormund or even the Hound had hit so hard. 

Unlike the wights who appeared to lose any skill when they turned. The White Walker expertly dodged her swings, stepping back just as she cleaved Oathkeeper through the air.

Brienne avoided the creature’s savage attack by dodging behind a tree. The loud crack echoed through the forest as the icy sword struck the tall aspen. The tree shuddered and crashed to the ground. The White Walker jumped backward, distracted by the falling tree. Brienne saw an opening and swung Oathkeeper, slicing the creature across its broad chest. It exploded in a rain of snow and ice. 

A roar echoed through the forest as the ice dragon flew overhead. South toward where the carriage had crashed through the forest. Brienne ran for her horse and followed the large beast, hoping reach the Sansa, Arya and Genna in time.

-oOo-

The carriage shook violently as it slid over the frozen field of covered snow. Inside Lady Genna held onto Sansa’s hands. Her bright red Brocade dress and cloak in stark contrast to the plain dark green northern dress and man’s tunic and breeches of her two companions wore. 

Genna and Sansa screamed as their transport teetered for a moment before it tipped over. The door flew open and Ayra climbed out before reaching down to pull her sister and Genna from the wreckage. 

Arya jumped down and looked around for the driver and guards. They had crashed into a tall aspen, the tracks from the wheels led back to the road.

“Arya, don’t run off,” Sansa shivered.

Ignoring her sister pleads, Arya found the guards a short distance away, dead. Rummaging through their bodies, she found two dragonglass daggers. Arya handed one each to Sansa and Genna.

It had started snowing, and a blanket of white covered the tracks leading back to the road. An eerily quiet settled on the forest and a misty fog rolled over the broken carriage.

Through the haze of blowing snow a tall figure rose before them, it was clad in dark armor and its icy face and close-set intense blue eyes stared at them as it walked forward.

Sansa’s horrified scream echoed through the aspen trees.

“Tell Emmon,” Genna shuttered, “tell him, I …I love him.”

Genna turned to face the Night King. She was a lioness, a lioness protected her cubs, and she would protect these cubs, even if they were pups. 

“Lady Genna…No,” Sansa screamed, as Arya grabbed her hand and pulled her down the icy path away form Genna and the Night King.

The Night King stopped before Genna staring down at her in contempt. She raised the dagger. However, he was faster and grabbed her plump arm. The dagger fell from her grasp as ice crystals began to lace down her arm. 

An icy sword appeared to grow from the demon’s hand. Raising the clear crystal sword the Night Kings plunged the long blade deep into Genna’s heart before tossing her lifeless body aside.

-oOo-

The Outriders and Dorthraki had proven efficient in past battles, flanking the undead and killing White Walkers. Jaime hoped they would be as efficient in a head on assault.

A roar overhead alerted them of the two dragons as they rose from the godswood. Jaime actually felt a pang of sadness for the little queen. He knew she would be riding the larger of the two great beasts. If her dragons couldn’t bring the ice dragon down, she would try to lead it back to Winterfell, in range of the scorpions high up on towers. Jaime had to wonder, _would it be hard for her, to watch her child die a second time?_

The terrified screams of the refugees washed over them as the civilians emerged from the forest, closely followed by a cloud of wights. Apparently, the Night King had changed tactic again. The creatures no longer ignored the living. This was the slaughter Jon Snow had described, when he had told them about the fall of Hardhome.

One of the caravan guards struggled out of the woods, carrying two small children in his arms.

“Where’s Lady Brienne?” Jaime shouted at the man. 

The guard looked over his shoulder back into the woods. Of course, Brienne would have tried to reach the carriage and the Stark girls.

Jaime and Bronn followed the path of destruction through the woods. Bodies of the dead and the newly dead lay scattered in the clearing. Jaime dreaded finding Brienne’s blue tinted armor laying in the snow, or worse seeing her as one of the walking dead. 

A scream echoed through the forest, a scream belonging to Sansa Stark. Jaime knew where Sansa and Arya Stark were, Brienne would be close.

-oOo-

Arya clutched Sansa’s hand and dragged her along the road. Hoof beats and the whinnying of horses alerting Arya of the approach of riders. Suddenly, Sansa pulled away from Arya’s grip and rose into the air.

“Jump girl!” a male voice shouted.

Arya reacted immediately and jumped into the arms of Jaime Lannister. Sansa was in Bronn’s arms riding slightly ahead. 

A loud roar, very close, alerted them to the presence of the ice dragon. The beast swooped down at Bronn’s horse. The frightened animal reared, throwing both Bronn and Sansa.

“Jaime…Get out of here…ride!” Bronn shouted at him as he grabbed Sansa’s hand and ran for the woods, “I’ll get her to saf-,”

“No!” Arya cried as they rode away. She watched in horror as the ice dragon’s claws opened and grabbed Sansa from Bronn’s arms. 

“Go Back!” Arya yelled at Jaime again, pulling her dagger from her belt and pressing it against his throat. The Kingslayer only set his jaw and urged the horse faster. They couldn’t do anything for Sansa, but he could save a least one of Jon’s sisters.

Arya realized that fear of her dagger and death would not change his mind, she changed her tactics. 

“We can save them!” she shouted in his face, “You and I…we can fight!”

That worked, the horse reared as Jaime abruptly tugged on its reins, turning the animal around. Arya stood up on the back of the horse her hands holding onto Jaime’s shoulders.

“There!” Arya shouted, pointing off into the distance. Jaime could see Brienne riding a large warhorse chasing after the ice dragon as it flew low over the landscape. Sansa struggled in the beast’s claws. The Night King’s stretched his arms in the air raising the dead around them. 

“Get down girl,” Jaime yelled at Arya, “you’re going to fall.” 

“I won’t fall” she sneered at him.

As if to prove her wrong, dead hands surfaced from the snow and clutched at the horse’s legs. The animal lurched forward sending both Jaime and Arya flying into the air. 

Arya landed in a graceful crouch, one hand reaching forward to steady her fall, her dagger already drawn.

Jaime’s fall was less graceful, his breath knocked from his lungs as he landed in the deep snow. 

“You fell,” Jaime said, as he gasped for air and tried to free himself from the snowdrift.

“I didn’t fall, I was thrown,” She growled, before running off into the forest. 

The screech alerted Jaime of the wight. Turning he saw the figure rising from the snow. The undead creature wore a fine red brocade dress, its long golden hair disheveled and hung limply down its face, eyes that were once emerald green were replaced by an eerie blue.

“Aunt Genna…?” Jaime’s breath caught in the crisp air as his aunt ambled toward him. She hardly looked dead. Her pale skin had only just begun to turn a light shade of grey as the blood drained away from her face.

Genna raised an old chipped iron dagger over her head and swung it downward toward Jaime’s heart. Jaime raised his gold hand and the iron blade caught in the soft metal. The wight tugged fiercely, not in confusion, or any other conscience thought, her face remained eerily calm as she mindlessly pulled on the blade.

“I’m sorry,” Jaime cried, tears running down his face as he plunged Redemption into the heart of the woman who had raised him, had raised all of them, Tyrion, Cersei and himself after their mother died. 

She had been their lioness, holding them when they were sad, listened to their silly childhood stories, tugging on their ears when they were naughty, and protecting them from Tywin Lannister’s wrath.

As the creature collapsed at his feet, Jaime fell to his knees and stroked her golden hair. “Auntie Genna,” he sobbed. 

“Kingslayer!” A shout broke into his sorrow. He looked up to see the silhouettes of two riders.

Arya and Bronn had managed to find horses and each other. Arya reached down for him, “Kingslayer!” she shouted again, “Come on!”

Jaime jumped on the horse behind her and took the reins from her hands.

Arya sneered, “I can do it.”

Jaime wasn’t in the mood, “You also have two good hands and can fight…I take the reins.”

“There!” Arya shouted pointing into the sky.

The ice dragon was suddenly stuck from the side. The teeth and claws of its brothers dug into its wings. The undead beast roared and dropped Sansa. The Lady of Winterfell fell limply into a snowbank as the three dragons clashed above her.

Brienne was already there, she jumped off her horse and dodging the three trashing dragons to reach Sansa and pull her from the snow. 

Jaime urged the horse faster as he watched the worst thing he could possibly imagine, the Lady of Winterfell and the woman he loved, arm in arm as they ran through the deep snow, the dragons swooping down behind them.

Bronn reached them first and grabbed the reins of Brienne’s horse just as the animal tried to bolt away from the dragons fighting overhead. Brienne helped Sansa onto her horse and jumped up behind her. 

The ice dragon, knocked from the sky, crashed into the snow where Brienne and Sansa had just been. The two living dragons lifted higher into the air. 

The Night King slid from the fatally wounded undead dragon as its brothers rained fire down on the ghostly Spector. He turned and studied the two living dragons as a long spear grew out of his hand. 

“Get out of there,” Jaime hissed at the Dragon Queen, they didn’t need to lose another of her beasts. 

Daenerys realized the danger and quickly turned her dragons back toward Winterfell, dodging the long spear as it flew through the air toward Drogon, the larger black dragon. 

The Night King face didn’t show a change in emotion at his failure to claim another dragon. He turned and started to walk toward the five living people, his ghostly blue eyes staring at them as he raised his arms into the air. 

The bodies of the dead began to rise around them. The living didn’t wait around, the dragons couldn’t harm the Night King, what could they do? Turning the horses, they sped off through the forest and reached the open plain. 

The drawbridge was down and the gates of the contravallation stood open, soldiers were helping the survivors of the caravan through the gates. Jon Snow was amongst the soldiers at the gate, when he saw the Jaime, Bronn and Brienne emerge from the forest with his sisters, he was at first relieved his sister were safe. His eyes turning dark as he drew Longclaw and ran toward them.

The screeches of the dead swarmed behind the three escaping riders. Jaime heard a thunder of hoofs and the wobbling shriek as the Dothraki swept past. The Essos horsemen never stopped their forward momentum as they crashed into the dead, halting the creatures advance toward Winterfell.

In the forest, large aspens suddenly crashed and fell before the undead dragon as it emerged from the tree line. The creature’s wings hung loosely at its sides. The dragon opened its mouth and blue flame engulfed both the Dothraki and the wights in its path. It lumbered forward roaring loudly, at a speed no one could expect of the wounded creature. 

Of in the distance a horn blew, overhead earthen jars flew through the air and engulfed the undead dragon in burning tar. A second later, two large dragonglass harpoons, launched from the scorpions high up on Winterfell’s towers impaling the burning creature. The ice dragons twitched several times as it continued to advance toward the contravallation, before it collapsed on the plains only a few feet from the earth and wood investment surrounding the castle. 

When Jaime, Bronn, Brienne, Sansa and Arya reached the gate, Jon Snow ran toward them. 

“Thank the gods,” Jon said pulling Sansa and Arya into his arms.

“Genna?” Emmon cried as he emerged from the crowd surrounding the survivors, “Where’s Genna?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments are love


	21. Dragon Eggs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just why does Martyn hate The Dragon Queen. This is mostly a Martyn Chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter was originally part of my first story "the last summer rain" however I decided to end that story before Martyn left for Essos. I kind of like giving the people that are often portrayed as one-sided villains some dimension.

Chapter Twenty-one  
Dragon Eggs

Sorrow was a shadow that hung over Winterfell. Most of the refugees that had tried to evacuate to the Twin had not survived the attack. The Night King now had more recruits for his army of the dead then he had before the battle. Even the relief that the ice dragon was dead wasn’t enough to stop the anguished cried of the people of Winter Town. 

The foul smelling smoke rising from the burning corpses didn’t help. A heavy black cloud still hung in the air, matched only by the mood of the people of Winterfell. It took several days for the ice dragon to burn and the smell lingered in the air. 

A few days after the attack Arya had found Emmon Frey alone in the darkness of his cold cottage, the old man hadn’t eaten or slept in days. They moved him out of the cottage he had shared with his wife in Winter Town and into the castle. 

The only person who could get Emmon to eat was Arya, who shadowed the old man as he roamed the castle glassy eyed and listless. He had loved his wife so much, that for many years he overlooked her infidelities and the treacheries of her family. Now, without her, it all seemed pointless. 

-oOo-

Jaime rolled over in his sleep and pulled Brienne into his arms. The motion startled Brienne awake. When she realized what had happened she sighed and relaxed. She reached up and brushed his golden hair away from his face. A part of her still couldn’t believe she was here, in his arms, in his bed. The night before had made love until they had fallen asleep in each other arms. 

Ever since the failed attempt to evacuate the civilians, Brienne had spent most nights in Jaime’s arms. If Brienne didn’t show up at Jaime’s door by nightfall, he would barge into Winterfell looking for her.

Jaime green eyes fluttered open at her light touch and drew her hand to his lips, laying light kisses down her long fingers. Wrapping her arms around his neck, they pulled together. 

An hour later, they finally emerged from their room. Martyn and Bronn were sitting next to the hearth breaking their fast on cheese, bread and stale mead. 

Bronn had apparently discovered a new activity. He tossed a chunk of cheese, which Kevan snatched out of the air.

“Can you stop?” Martyn said in annoyance.

“But…he likes it,” Bronn said trying to sound innocent, and tossed another chunk of cheese at the large lion.

“You don’t have to sleep in the same room as him,” Martyn replied dryly.

Martyn moved into the cottage to be closer to his nephew, the only living family he had left. He soon discovered Bronn shared not only his brother Corwyn’s appearance, but also his brother’s annoying sense of humor. 

The old wizard noticed the couple emerging from their room and motioned them to break their fast by the fire. 

“Will eating cheese keep Kevan awake all night,” Brienne asked in concern for the large beast.

“No…just me.” Martyn said as he stood up, snatched the platter of cheese and bread away from Bronn, and handed it to Jaime and Brienne.

“Cat farts,” Bronn replied with a knowing smirk.

Kevan’s eyes followed the cheese and he rose to his feet patted over to Brienne and Jaime and sat down on his haunches, staring at them and the cheese.

“Kevan,” Martyn said sternly, “leave it!”

The large saber-toothed-lion looked over at Martyn and then back at the cheese wantonly before moving back to his place by the fire and plopping down in a huff. 

The dejected expression on the lion’s face was all it took. Suddenly, Jaime held onto his stomach and laughed so hard he slid from his chair. Bronn slapped his leg and threw his head back in a loud guffaw. Martyn covered his face with both his hands, but from the quake in his shoulders, they could tell he was also laughing. 

Brienne looked at the three men as if they had all gone insane, before she held her hand over her mouth and started to chuckle. They needed this. Laughter finally reemerged in Winter Town, all because of cat farts. 

They almost didn’t hear the light knock on the door. Bronn got up and staggered to the door still in the thrall of laughter.

“It’s cousin Tyrion and some grump of an old knight,” Bronn laughed as Tyrion Lannister and Jorah Mormont walked into the room.

Tyrion looked around and couldn’t help but smile. It had been such a long time since anyone laughed in Winterfell. 

“Have you broke your fast little brother?” Jaime asked through laughter, whipping a tear from his eye and offering Tyrion and Jorah some cheese and bread.

“Yes, I have, thank you,” Tyrion said, before turning to smile at Bronn, “cousin Bronn…I hope to be the one to tell Cersei, just to see the expression on her face.”

Bronn’s eyes lit up with a mischievous grin, “Think I might have a chance with her then?” Both Tyrion and Bronn chuckled and Jaime grimaced.

“Why are you here Tyrion?” Jaime asked in irritation at Bronn and Tyrion's not so funny joke at his expense.

“Queen Daenerys has called a war council to discuss the recent events,” Tyrion said in seriousness again, “and wishes you all to attend.”

The group didn’t miss the scowl that spread over Martyn’s face when he heard the queen’s name. Jaime remembered he had wanted to ask Martyn about that.

“Martyn?...I know why I don’t care for the Dragon Queen,” Jaime asked, “Why do you hate our little queen?”

“Long story…,” Martyn replied seriously.

“We have time,” Tyrion chirped happily.

“No we don’t,” Mormont replied dryly.

“Sure we do,” Tyrion said, sitting down next to Brienne he clasped his hands together and leaned forward eyeing the old wizard.

Martyn looked over at Tyrion and Jorah Mormont. He knew they were both fiercely loyal to the mad queen. However he didn’t’ really care if they ran to her with tales of his hatred. He wasn’t afraid of her or her dragons.

“I never told you too very much about Asshai,” Martyn said, glancing over at Brienne and Jaime.

“No, other than you were there,” Brienne responded. 

“Asshai is a…peculiar place, and it is home to no one, and many,” Martyn replied, “It is a place of cold darkness and shadows. I wasn’t expecting to find…friendship…love…life.”

Martyn was not yet thirty years old when he stepped of the ship and into the mysterious city of Asshai. It didn’t take him long to contact his old friend and mentor from the Citadel, Archmaester Marwyn. The Citadel had sent the Archmaester and his assistant Maester Qyburn to study in Asshai years before. Mostly to get rid of them, the stanch Citadel threatened by ideas of magic and the higher mysteries the two men represented. 

“Wait…Qyburn?” Tyrion said, looking over at Jaime, “the same Qyburn?”

Martyn replied with a shrug, “Qyburn was once a good man, a talented healer,” and added with a chuckle, “he once told me authority hated to be questioned, but I should question it anyway. It is a wonder the Citadel hadn’t sent them away sooner.”

Martyn paused for a second. Jaime had told him about the Qyburn that assisted his sister, Queen Cersei in her evil schemes. Reanimating a dead knight, designing the scorpions to take down the Dragon Queen’s beasts, experimenting on living people. It was hard to imagine his friend sliding down that particular rabbit warren. 

“I suppose Asshai changed him,” Martyn sighed remembering his old friend. “It changed us all.”

“Is that why you hate Daenerys?” Tyrion asked, “Because your friend is now our enemy.”

“No,” Martyn said shaking his head, “I’m sure Qyburn cares as much as I do which mad queen is in power. And as I said, Asshai changed him.”

Martyn looked into over at Mormont and said, “I despise your queen because of what she did to Mirri.”

“Who is Mirri?” Tyrion asked confused, he hadn’t heard that name before.

“Mirri Maz Duur,” Jorah Mormont scowled in disdain, “she was a witch.” 

“And I am a wizard,” Martyn growled at the knight, “don’t think I don’t hold you and that horde of Dothraki outside responsible for her death as well…knight!” Martyn spat out the word ‘knight’ in contempt like the taste of the word was foul. 

Brienne reached out and laid her hand over Martyn’s, “tell us about her.” 

She glanced over at Jorah Mormont, telling him with her eyes to remain quiet while Martyn told his tale.

Martyn nodded and continued. Mirri was Maegi from the hill country of Lhazar in eastern Essos. The young woman, not yet twenty years old, had warm coppery skin and long straight black hair. Her dark brown eyes and welcoming smile that made her appear out of place in such the dark and disconsolate city as Asshai. 

Archmaester Marwyn had agreed to take the young woman on as a student, teaching her human anatomy and the higher mysteries. The young woman’s kindness filled all their hearts. Martyn confessed he wasn’t in love with her, but he did care for her. 

“It was complicated,” Martyn said. He never thought he would find happiness again after the death of his wife, Darra and their children, “Mirri helped me through that dark period in my life.” 

The young woman had trained as a Maegi and healer with her mother in her small village. However, she wanted adventure and excitement. The world was a wondrous place, and Mirri wanted to see it all. She reminded Martyn of his sister Avilynn. 

Martyn and Qyburn often took off to explore the Shadow Lands. On their last trip, they had almost made it all the way to Vale of Shadows, where the ancient city of Stygai rested silently forgotten in time. Shadow creatures chased them away before they had even reached the Valley floor. This time Martyn hoped with Mirri’s help the three of them could make it all the way to the ancient city. 

Qyburn had stolen into the Archmaester’s study and borrowed his glass candle. Martyn suspected the light of the candle would keep the shadow creatures away. It had taken all three of them too initially light the spiral dragonglass shard. Once it was glowing steadily, Mirri was able to keep it alight all by herself. 

Their journey into the mountains above the ancient city was relatively easy, that had run into a few shadowy demons, nothing the three couldn’t handle. It was there above the Vale of Shadows where they had found the nest. Five large petrified eggs nestled in the shadow of a cliff face. 

“Dragon eggs,” Mirri gasped, “Their beautiful.” They collected the eggs and distributed them in their packs before continuing down into the valley. 

Martyn held Mirri’s hand as they descended the steep cliff face. She had to concentrate on keeping the candle alight or they would all perish. When they reached the valley floor, a large city wall appeared through the fog.

Qyburn stared in awe at the ruins of the city of Stygai, “We might be the first people to get this close to Stygai in thousands of years.” 

The road led through a forest of petrified trees. Shadow creatures crashed against the glass candle’s glow. Many more creatures then in the mountains and these shadows were much more vicious in their relentless attack.

Mirri held the candle tightly, her eyes never leaving the glowing light. Qyburn laid his hand on her shoulder to help guide her forward. 

Martyn felt a tinge of guilt for bringing her along. It was his and Qyburn’s idea to explore the ancient city, not hers. The girl was obviously terrified and for good reason. If the candle went out, they wouldn’t be able to dispel all of the shadows that now lurked outside of the candles range in the rocky forest that surrounded them.

At the edge of the forest, the trees had begun to thin and the shadow creatures fled back into the darkness of the petrified trees. 

They continued to hike toward the City of Night, which still stood several miles down a long road of ancient cracked stone. Soon Stygai loomed before them. The glossy black stone of its walls reached almost to the height of the Wall of ice in the north of Westeros. The walls and buildings inside were not the gray stone of the trees. The city looked similar to Asshai, Martyn wondered if the same ancient race of people had built both cities. 

The sky turned blood red as the shadow creature rose high above the wall. The creature looked like a giant ghostly cephalopod, its large shadowy tendrils waved in the air. The black spectral body of the creature rippled in the light of the softly glowing glass candle. The shadow beast roared down at them with hatred. 

Unlike the mindless shadow creatures, the shadow beast seemed to process a cruel intelligence. Long tendrils reached toward them, it didn’t seem affected by the faint glow of the glass candle. 

Martyn and Qyburn combined their power to Mirri’s as she held tightly onto the glowing black candle, a burst of brilliant light filled the sky. The colors around them seemed to shift. The red sky turn to flames and the stone black walls of Stygai looked like holes had opened to a dimension of pure darkness. The shadow beast roared in fury as it drew its tendrils away from the bright light and fled into the city. 

The explosion of light siphoned so much of their power they had nearly collapsed. They clung to each other trying to remain standing. The candle flickered softly in the growing darkness. They could still hear the roars of the shadow beast it fled from the blast of light deeper into the city. 

Martyn gasped, “It’s gone.”

“It might come back,” Qyburn shuddered as he peered into the ancient city.

“We should go,” Mirri gasped, hardly containing her tears of terror.

“Where’s your sense of adventure.” Martyn scolded them.

Statues lining the central street depicted short and thickset people of astonishing beauty. Wisps of shadowy phantoms lurked in the shadows. Again, Mirri held the glass candle keeping the shadows at bay. The street ended at a bulky domed building a grand stairway led up to large double doors. 

The building appeared to have once been a library. Scrolls lay in dusty alcoves along the wall. When Martyn tried to pick up one of the scrolls, it disintegrated in his hands. 

Suddenly the ground shook violently and they heard a loud roar. The large shadow creature was returning. 

Mirri screamed and almost dropped the glass candle. The light flickered slightly. The three explorers held their breath until the light began to glow steadily again.

“Where not strong enough,” Qyburn yelled over the roars of the beast. “We can’t fight that thing! We don’t even know what it is!”

Martyn nodded they didn’t know what it was. The giant creature had been frightened, maybe even hurt by the bright light of the glass candle. When the beast returned it would be furious. Martyn couldn’t risk all their lives and for…what? He didn’t even know what they was looking for. Martyn took a last forlorn look at the ancient scrolls. The secrets the ancient city must hold were beyond imagining. 

They ran down the central street, toward the large gate of the abandoned city. Martyn looked back and saw the large shadowy creature rising above the bulk of library. Wisps of smoky tendrils crept down the façade of the ancient building and crawled toward them. The eerie tendrils slowly seeped toward them until they reached the gates of the city. A furious roar echoed over the empty streets as they ran through the gate and back down the ancient road leading out of the valley. 

When they made it back to Asshai, they sold three of the eggs to a captain of a merchant vessel traveling to Pentos. Mirri announced she was going use her share and go home. She had seen enough horror for multiple lifetimes. 

“Come with me?” the young woman begged Martyn.

Marytn sadly looked down at her, brushing his hand down her tear stained face, “I can’t…village life isn’t for me.”

She merely nodded, and walked away toward the docks.

The room fell into silence. Martyn looked into the fire sadly. If he had followed her, he might have saved her and saved her village from the Dothraki? If he had gone, he might as well be dead. 

“You just let her leave?” Brienne asked, always the incurable romantic.

“Wait,” Tyrion interrupted, “there were five eggs? Where are the other two?” 

“I have one,” Martyn nodded, looking over at Tyrion, “and Qyburn has the other one.”

“You should give the egg to the Khaleesi,” Mormont said, “another dragon would be helpful to the war-”

“No, that won’t be happening,” Martyn sneered at the tall knight, “she will have to pry it out of my cold dead hands, and I can guarantee, many people have tried to kill me, it won’t be easy.” 

Martyn stood suddenly and reached out his arm, his staff, Stormbringer, flew quickly through the air and snapped into Martyn’s hand. The staff crackled with blue lightning as Martyn stood eye to eye with Mormont. 

Challenging the knight, Martyn said, “Your precious Khaleesi needs to suffer for her sins, for what she did to Mirri.”

“What happened to Mirri?” Brienne asked, afraid to hear the answer.

“This one knows,” Martyn eyed Jorah Mormont.

“The witch all but killed Khal Drogo, and the Khaleesi’s unborn child,” Mormont replied sternly, “because of her foul magic the Khaleesi can never have another child.”

“And why did Mirri do that?” Martyn asked the sarcasm rolling on his tongue, “I wonder.”

“The Khaleesi befriended the witch,” Mormont spat, “saved her life.”

“Not before the Dothraki, slaughtered Mirri’s village, and raped her.” Martyn growled, “Drogo and the Dothraki saw her people as sheep, sometimes sheep bite back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are love.


	22. The Night Queen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What is the Night King After.

Chapter Twenty-two  
The Night Queen

The King of the North, Jon Snow’s solar in the north corner of Winterfell was the largest room in the castle, except for the Great Hall. A stew of people crowded the space. Jaime and his southern knights, The Dragon Queen and her Dothraki and Unsullied commanders, and the northern lords filled the the large room. 

Martyn and Bran sat in the back. Much to Jon’s annoyance, Martyn wasn’t there. The wizard sat perfectly still, his eyes white as dirty ice. Bran was holding the old wizards hand, unknown to anyone in the room the Three-Eyed-Raven was funneling magic into the old wizard’s vision helping him see clearer. 

“Have we any idea what the Night King wants?” Jon asked still irritated that one of his best counselors had chosen this time to escape into a vision.

“He wants his Queen,” Bran said tonelessly as if it was obvious.

“Bran, what are you talking about?” Jon asked, glancing over at Daenerys in concern, she was he only queen in the room. 

“The Night Queen,” Bran said, “who he would already have, if Ser Jaime hadn’t…assisted me on my journey to become the Three-Eyed-Raven.” 

Jaime stiffened at Bran’s comment, before he asked, “If he is after Queen Daenerys, why hasn’t he just killed us all and taken her? Why doesn’t he attack the supply caravans and starve us out?” 

“If she is accidently killed or starves to death, she would only become a wight, wouldn’t she?” Samwell answered, “She has to be alive when he turns her.”

“Daenerys isn’t the Night Queen,” Bran droned, “The Night Queen needs to be of the north…a Stark.”

“What are you saying Bran?” Jon said, but in his soul, the King of the North already knew, as he glanced over at his cousin.

“Sansa, she is the Night Queen,” Bran nodded, “and if the Night King gains his queen he will be unstoppable and the entire world will fall.”

Sansa gasped and the solar fell into an unnerving silence. As all eyes fell toward the young lady of Winterfell.

“This may sound horrible,” Lord Brandyn Holt finally broke the silence, “but maybe we should…you know, dispose of his intended target, to take pressure off of Winterfell, we lose to many men in each attack.”

“Are you insane?” Jon growled as his dark eyes fell on Lord Holt.

Sansa eyes grew large and tears welled up before she fled from the room, Addam Marbrand gave Holt a menacing look before he chased after her.

Brienne grabbed the northern lord’s arm, turning him to face her, “If any harm comes to Lady Sansa, it will be the last thing you do!” 

“I know what it feels like to succumb to your worst impulses,” Jaime said standing between Jon and Holt. Jaime gave Bran a serious look, the Three-Eyed-Raven just stared back blankly.

Jaime turned to look into the northern lords eyes, “believe me you don’t want that on your conscience. There has to be another way.”

A loud crack of thunder startled everyone. Lightning coursed over Martyn’s staff, Stormbringer, and arched across the ceiling in blue waves.

Martyn’s eyes snapped back to bluish-gray and his head jerked backwards. For an instant different places and times flooded into Martyn’s mind. He wondered, _Was this what Bran experienced every waking moment?_ His face was blank as he turned to look at the Three-Eyed-Raven. Martyn pulled his hand away from the young man and shook it, as if he was trying to rid his hand of some foul substance.

“There is another way,” Martyn said dully. The old wizard shook his head several times and coughed, before saying again, in a regular tone, “there is another way.”

-oOo-

Sansa ran down a long dark hall, her mind blazing with unsettling thoughts. _Why me?_ She thought. _First Joffrey, then Ramsey Bolton, now the Night King. Why am I always destined to be the mate of pure evil?_

All she ever wanted was to fall in love with a kind and handsome young lord. She finally had come to terms with that not happening. Now all she hoped for was to grow old surrounded by her family.

Sansa heard the rustle of running feet, there was no clink of armor, not a guard or Lady Brienne, her pursuer wasn’t wearing metal plate or chainmail. 

A tall silhouette appeared at the end of the hall, the man slowly walked toward her, his hands raised in a calming motion.

“Lady Stark?” he said in a calm voice, “It’s okay…I’m not here to bring you back.” 

Ser Addam Marbrand stepped into the light, the burning tree sigil of House Marbrand embossed on his light leather armor. 

“Don’t worry,” the tall knight breathed, “I won’t let them hurt you.”

“It’s not that, I would sacrifice my life for Winterfell,” Sansa sniffed. 

“No, I won’t allow-,” Addam started to protest, but Sansa interrupted him.

“It’s…just…,” She said looking up at him, “Why am I always destined for monsters?”

“Lord Tyrion is hardly a monster,” Addam said, leaning back against the wall next to Sansa, and crossing his arms over his chest. He looked down into Sansa’s face and smiled kindly, “A little short maybe, but we just think that, because we are both so tall.”

Sansa looked up into the handsome knight, he was quite tall, not as tall as the Hound but taller than most men. “Tyrion was…kind, but I didn’t love him, and his family is full of monsters.”

“I know, I was a page at Casterly Rock,” Addam chuckled, reaching up to brush her long auburn hair away from her face, he said seriously, “No one is giving you to that monster and no one is going to hurt you. You have my word as a knight.”

“You can’t promise that,” Sansa sniffed, “If it’s the only-,”

“There is always another way,” Ser Addam said and he pulled the trembling young woman into his arms, “and we will find it.”

The tall knight let her cry, stroking her hair until she stopped shaking.

The clink of armor echoed down the hall, Ser Addam pushed Sansa behind him and drew his sword as a tall figure appeared in the shadows. 

“Lady Sansa?” Brienne’s voice asked.

“Brienne!” Sansa cried and ran into her tall protectors arms.

“What have you done to her?” Brienne scowled at Addam as she drew Oathkeeper.

“He didn’t do anything,” Sansa said pulling on Brienne’s arm, “he was just being kind.”

Brienne huffed and sheathed Oathkeeper, keeping a suspicious eye on the tall knight as she led Sansa away.

-oOo-

After everyone had filed out of Jon’s solar, the King noticed that Martyn still sat quietly in the back of the room.

“Is they something I can help you with Lord Reyne?” Jon asked stiffly, he knew the old wizard was an asset to the war. However, he couldn’t help feel the wizard was no better than the red witch Melisandre, or the evil necromancer Qyburn. Even his cousin Bran, who he still loved like a brother, was often discomfiting with his visions and monotone speech pattern.

“No, but I have something for you.” Martyn said as he dug into his old and worn satchel, the sigil of House Reyne, a two-tailed lion embossed on the flap. The old Wizard pulled out a large gray egg, petrified in stone. 

“Is that…?” Jon asked as he reached out a tentative hand out to touch the rough surface of the egg. 

Martyn smiled at the young king, “A dragon egg?...yes it is.”

Jon had to force himself to look away from the egg and into Martyn’s eyes.

“Why are you giving it to me?” Jon asked, “It should go to the queen.”

“Never,” Martyn growled, “You are the son of Rhaegar Targaryen, and also carry dragon blood. I will give it to you, but only if I have your word it will not fall into her mad clutches.”

Jon paused for a moment, Martyn had never tried to hide his hatred of Daenerys. The old man even seemed to go out of his way to antagonize and anger the queen. Daenerys had shown great restraint in ignoring his subtle jabs and rude remarks.

“How do you know I won’t give it to her anyway?” the king asked.

“I have heard you honor your words,” Martyn said, “I will take the chance that is true.”

Suddenly Samwell Tarly burst into the room a crumpled parchment in his hands.

“The Twins are under attack!” Samwell gasped, out of breath.

“The dead?” Jon asked, had the Night King finally decided to bypass Winterfell and head south. 

“No,” Samwell said giving the parchment written in Lord Edmure hand to Jon, “the Golden Company.”

-oOo-

Sansa sat staring at the burning logs as they hissed and cracked in the hearth. The young woman crossed her arms over her chest and shivered.

The Lady of Winterfell had hidden herself away in her chamber for the entire day. Not that there was much difference between night and day anymore, the sun glowed in a greenish haze during the day and slipped into a starless deep black at night. 

“I’m sorry to inconvenience you Brienne,” Sansa finally sniffed, “I know you would rather spend time with Ser Jaime.”

“No,” Brienne said reaching out and covering Sansa’s small hand with her larger one, “Your protection is all that matters now.”

“Maybe Lord Holt is right,” Sansa said calmly, “Maybe I should be…eliminated and end the threat to Winterfell.”

“Lady Sansa…No, you can’t think like that,” Brienne gasped in horror.

“The Night Kings will keep attacking until he gets what he wants.” Sansa sniffed.

“And we will keep fighting him until he is defeated,” Brienne replied, “There is no other option.”

A crisp knock startled them, Sansa looked worried as Brienne took a deep breath her hand grasping the hilt of Oathkeeper before she opened the door. Jamie stood in the entrance a concerned look on his face.

“Jaime,” Brienne hissed, “What are you doing here?”

“You have guarded your lady all day,” Jaime said in concern, “You need to sleep, let someone else guard her tonight.”

Brienne shook her head, “no…you can’t ask-.” 

“I can, and I do,” Jaime said, “and I found the prefect guard for the night.”

By the collar of her long nightshift, Jaime hauled a very sleepy and very grumpy looking Arya Stark into the room. Arya’s sword, needle and valyrian steel dagger clutched in her hands.

“Whatever.” Arya growled and paced to Sansa’s bed and crawled in.

“Who else better to guard Lady Sansa.” Jaime said, “Now come away.”

“I can’t leave them,” Brienne sighed.

“You know Arya is capable,” Jaime argued, “and Bronn will stand guard outside the door. Lady Sansa will be safer with two protectors than one, who is overly exhausted.”

“Just go Brienne,” Arya said with a yawn, “I got this, and he isn’t going to leave until you do.”

Brienne looked over at Sansa who nodded, “I’ll be quite safe with Arya and Ser Bronn and Ser Jaime is right you can’t protect me if you’re tired.”

Outnumbered, Brienne finally agreed, but told Sansa she would be back first thing in the morning. She stepped out into the passage and found Bronn camped out on a chair next to the door.

“You don’t mind?” Brienne asked Bronn.

The gruff knight cucked his head and chuckled, “Not at all, our cottage smells like old cabbage.”

“And whose fault is that?” Martyn grumbled as he and the large saber-toothed-lion ambled toward them.

“What’s he doing here?” Bronn asked pointing at the large lion.

“Kevan…guard,” Martyn ordered the lion. The large beast sat down in front of Lady Sansa’s chamber door with a huff. 

“Oh no,” Bronn said shaking his head, “I don’t need a guard lion, he’s not staying.”

“Oh, he is,” Martyn smirked, and winked at Jaime and Brienne.

Bronn looked sideways over at the large lion, who only stared back hoping for more cheese. The knight signed as Brienne, Jaime and Martyn walked away. His uncle’s chuckles drifted down the hall after them.

Bronn stopped a young servant who wandered passed and asked for a platter of cheese. Several hours later, Bronn still sat leaning his chair against the wall, his nose tucked into his gambeson. 

The door of Sansa’s chamber opened a crack and two young faces peaked out to stare at Bronn accusingly.

“What the seven hells is that smell?” Arya looked at Bronn suspiciously.

Bronn just shrugged and pointed at Kevan. Two large yellowish green eyes fell on the young women, an innocent expression on the large lion’s face.

“What have you been feeding him?” Sansa asked opening the door and looking at the large lion sympathetically.

Bronn smiled and tossed a chunk of cheese. Kevan stood up instantly and snatch it from the air.

Sansa giggled and clasped her hands together, “oh…let me try.” 

Bronn smiled wily and handed her a large piece of cheese. Sansa twittered as she tossed the cheese at the lion. Instead of snatching at the cheese, the lion suddenly turned and growled.

Ten armed men appeared at the end of the hall. The northern warriors drew their weapons when they saw their intended prey guarded by Bronn and the large lion.

“Ah, look at these brave northern warriors,” Bronn reached behind his back for the knife he kept sheathed on his belt. Looking at the northern lord, he said, “and Lord Holt of….ah…who cares.”

Arya also pulled out her sword and sneered, “You best turn around now Holt.”

Lord Holt growled, “The wizard’s plan is too dangerous, and we can’t risk the Night King claiming his bride. It is better this way.” 

The northern lord motioned his men forward. The first two fell as both Bronn and Arya’s knives flew through the air simultaneously. 

In the same motion, Bronn and Arya drew their swords and ran at the remaining men. 

Bronn sliced open the chest of one and turned to kick another toward Arya who stabbed the man in the back before turning to the man approaching from her left. She danced around his swing and slit his throat before he even noticed he had missed.

Kevan jumped on a startled warrior, clamped his fangs into the man’s leg, and pulled, knocking him to the ground. Bronn stabbed the man in the neck before he could regain his footing.

Lord Holt inched along the wall around Bronn, Arya and Kevan and grabbed Sansa arm. The northern lord laid his blade across her neck and hissed in her ear, “I am sorry Lady Sansa.” 

Kevan roared and pounced, impaling his fangs deep into Lord Holt’s chest. The unsettling hiss of air escaping the man’s lungs accompanied the sound of battle as Kevan shook the man like a rag doll. Sansa screamed as blood spattered over her face. 

Arya and Bronn dispatched the last two men just as King Jon and several guards ran down the passage, alerted to the sound of clashing steel and Kevan’s roars.

-oOo-

Brienne, Jaime and Martyn arrived the next morning to find Bronn calmly sitting on the same chair as last night. Several servants were busily scrubbing blood and gore from the walls and floor of the hall.

They found the young Lady of Winterfell sitting calmly next to the fire combing Kevan’s long mane. The lion looked content and happy with his head resting on Sansa’s lap, even though he had suffered though several large red ribbons being weaved into his mane. 

“I should have been here,” Brienne moaned in guilt after hearing about the attack. 

“No,” Jaime said, “It just proves, Bronn, Arya and Kevan were capable of defending Lady Sansa without your help.” 

Jaime laid his hand on Brienne’s shoulder “you can watch Lady Sansa during the day, King Jon and I will find trusted people to guard her door at night, and Arya will sleep here as well.”

“…And Kevan?” Sansa asked, “Can he come back?” 

“Of course but I fear, you’re going to spoil him,” Martyn chuckled at the sight of Kevan adorned in ribbons and bows.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Sansa replied, stroking Kevan’s fur, “I miss my direwolf, Lady…I used to weave ribbons in her fur.”

Martyn smiled and nodded, “I guess a little grooming won’t hurt him.” 

That night Sandor Clegane, the Hound relieved Brienne. No further attempts on Sansa’s life happened that night. Kevan received no cheese either, the large man and the saber-tooth-lion spent the night staring at each other in contempt. When Martyn and Brienne showed up the next morning, Kevan hissed at the Hound before he followed Martyn back to their cottage. 

“I don’t think Keven and the Hound much like each other,” Arya laughed and said with a mischievous grin, just loud enough for Clegane to hear though door, “Don’t know why, they both stink.”

“Hmph,” The large man said, shaking his head as Arya joined him in the passageway. The two walked to the Great Hall together to break their fast.

When Arya and the Hound were gone, Sansa sat down at a small table, motioning Brienne to join her, “Have you broke your fast?”

“No I haven’t my lady,” Brienne said sitting down across from Sansa. 

Brienne didn’t think the food looked very appetizing and it smelled worse. In fact, it turned Brienne’s stomach. She quickly got up and rushed to the chamber pot, Sansa was instantly at her side and pulled Brienne’s hair away from her face as the contents of last night’s supper exited her stomach.

Sansa helped take Brienne’s armor off, and pushed her down onto a chair by the fire. “How long has this been going on?”

Brienne shrugged with a sigh, “A couple of days.”

Sansa took her friends hand, “I know you and Ser Jaime...have spent…some time together. May I ask when your last moon blood was?”

“My Lady!” Brienne gasped and looked appalled by the implication.

“Brienne.” Sansa frowned at her.

Brienne sighed, “It has been…since before the first attack.” 

“That was two months ago,” Sansa gasped.

“I’ve never been very regular,” Brienne replied tying to deny the obvious, “my old Maester said it’s because I exercise to vigorously and don’t eat enough.”

“But over two months, no Brienne, you’re with child,” Sansa scolded, “Have you told Ser Jaime?”

Brienne’s eyes got wide, “No…I don’t want him to think...” 

Sansa pressed her lips together in a frown and went to the door, and ordered a servant to find Jaime and bring him to her chamber.

When Jaime arrived, concern spread across his face when he saw Brienne sitting by the fire looking very much defeated.

“What happened?” he asked, looking at Brienne, “Was there another attack? Why are you not wearing your armor?”

Sansa crossing her arms over her chest, “Brienne is my sworn sword…and my friend.” Sansa said, “I just want to know, what your intentions are.”

Jaime looked confused, Brienne knew his intentions, “After the war, we are going to Tarth and I will ask her father for her hand.” 

He looked at Sansa suspiciously, misunderstanding her intent and Brienne’s apparent melancholy, “I know she is sworn to you, but you must to let her go-.”

Sansa ignored his remark, “You wouldn’t consider marrying her sooner?”

“Brienne is a Lady, even if she doesn’t believe it,” Jaime replied, “I must ask her father for her hand.”

“And if he said no?” Sansa asked.

Jaime paused he hadn’t thought of that, maybe Selwyn Tarth wouldn’t want his only daughter to marry the Kingslayer. “I know I don’t deserve her, but if she would still have me, I would marry her anyway.”

“Then you don’t really need her father’s permission.” Sansa said.

Jaime saw at the dejected look on Brienne’s face, and again jumped to the wrong conclusion, “If you’re afraid one of us won’t survive-.”

“No it’s not that,” Brienne said and placed her hand on her stomach. 

With that motion, realization flooded into Jaime and his face light up. He rushed to her, gripped her shoulders, and looked into her eyes. “Really?...why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t want you to feel trapped,” Brienne sniffed.

“You silly wrench, you have already trapped my heart …years ago,” He laughed and picked her up and twirled her around in his arms. When she gasped he chuckled, “I told you I was strong enough.”

Sansa clasped her hands together happily, “A wedding, I must get to work designing the dress and cloaks.”

Jaime let Brienne slip down and into his arms. He laid a quick kiss on her cheek before he turned to Sansa and pulled a small scrap of linen from under his jerkin. He handed Sansa the linen scrap, the embroidery Brienne had made while trapped in Shadowmire Keep.

“Instead of a lion, can you make this on both cloaks.” He asked.

“Jaime?” Brienne asked in disbelief, “you kept that ratty old thing?”

“I keep it with me all the time, next to my heart,” Jaime smiled at her, running a finger along her lips, “where it belongs.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are love :)  
> And thanks to ximixazz for the Sansa Addam interaction. I wouldn't have thought about including it, but I will take suggestions.


	23. The Golden Company

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Golden Company moves North to attack WInterfell, but the NIght King reaches them first.

Chapter Twenty-Three  
The Golden Company

“The fool!” King Jon growled and he crumpled the parchment and threw it across his solar, “what the seven hells is he thinking?”

Jaime reached down and picked up the parchment that had caused the normally melancholy young king to react so violently. Jon was dark and broody by nature, but he didn’t often lose his temper. 

Jaime and Samwell Tarly were the only two other people in Jon’s solar. Sam already knew the contents of the parchment. He had delivered it to the young king as soon as the raven had arrived from the Twins.

Jaime looked down at the neat script written in Lord Edmure Tully’s hand. From a young age, Jaime always had problems reading, and even today, the letters sometimes switched places. His father, Lord Tywin had drilled his eldest son for hours each day, refusing to let him practice in the yard until he had mastered his lessons. Closing one eye, Jaime studied the parchment, wanting to be sure that he read correctly, before he reacted.

Jaime looked at the parchment in confusion, “He just…just let the Golden Company pass? Didn’t even put up a fight?” 

Jon nodded with a sneer, “Lord Edmure seemed to think it would be easier to let the dead take care of the Golden Company.”

“I don’t believe the Golden Company would have many valyrian steel weapons, and without dragonglass, they will be slaughtered.” Jaime said as he looked up at the king. 

“I believe that is what my…uncle had in mind.” Jon growled and sat down at this desk, absently running his hand over the large gray dragon egg Martyn had given him. 

“No wonder the Night King hasn’t attacked in over a month he is rebuilding his army,” Jaime said, as he crumpled the parchment.

Edmure Tully’s short sightedness would cost them all dearly. When the Night King finished with the Golden Company, he would have thousands of new recruits, including war elephants. With a new army, the Night Kings would soon resume his attacks on Winterfell. 

Jon ran his hands through his hair and looked at Sam, “Send a raven to Lord Edmure,” Jon said, “Tell him he has one job, guard the pass.”

Samwell turned to leave, when Jon stopped him and said, “…and get Bran and Martyn up here, we need to know if this will affect their plan.”

Jaime leaned out the window to look over the investments surrounding the castle, “The contravallation need reinforcement before the Night King arrives.” 

“I trust you can see to the details.” Jon nodded, looking up at the knight.

“Of course, your grace,”’ Jaime bowed, and turned to leave.

“I’m sorry this will delay your wedding,” Jon said in real sympathy, he had grown to really like and respect the once disgraced knight. 

Jaime nodded he was disappointed, but understood the reasons behind the delay. 

“… and Ser Jaime,” Jon said as Jaime was leaving, “Thank you for all you have done for us, you are a fine commander and true and noble knight. I feel honored to have known you…and glad the rumors I have heard all my life, are false.”

“Oh, the rumors are mostly true, your grace,” Jaime chuckled, before looking at the young king seriously, “It was just…I never had a monarch worth serving…until now.”

-oOo-

Sansa was walking through the courtyard with Brienne when the horn blew from the tall north tower. Three times, the dead had arrived. Sansa clutched at Brienne’s arm and shivered as she followed her tall protector to the crypt. Martyn was already waiting with Kevan, his large saber-toothed-lion.

“This is only if all else fails,” the old wizard pressed a small vial into Sansa’s palm.

“Will there be pain?” Sansa asked, looking down at the small vial of poison. She shuddered as she remembered how Joffrey died. Even though she hated him, no one deserved to die like that, clutching at his throat, and turning purple.

“No, it is quite painless and instant,” Martyn replied, kindly patting her hand, “So there is no need to take it until you see his eyes.”

Brienne followed Kevan and Sansa down into the crypt. Several civilians already huddled inside. There weren’t many non-fighters left in Winterfell, The attack on the caravan had killed most of them. A few of the survivors, that could, had taken up arms and now stood on the line. Down in the crypt, it was mostly young children and elderly men and women either too young or too old to fight.

Brienne slid the heavy bolt in place before she turned to Sansa. The Lady of Winterfell stood looking down at the small vial in her hands.

“Would you like me to hold that for you?” Brienne asked, concerned the young woman might panic and take the poison to soon.

Brienne hated that Martyn had suggested the poison, as a just in case. She understood the reason behind the old wizard’s suggestion, but the small vial still sent a shiver down her spine.

Sansa shook her head, “No, I need to hold it.”

Brienne took Sansa’s hand and looked into her eyes, “remember what Martyn said, not until you see the Night King's eyes.”

Sansa nodded and slipped the vial into her pocket, before she walked farther into the crypt. She stopped at the statue of her father, Eddard Stark, and lit a candle placing it in front of the tall image.

“If only he was here,” Sansa sighed, “If we hadn’t travelled south, If the Lannisters hadn’t killed him, maybe none of this would be happening.”

Brienne failed to see how Ned Stark’s presence would have prevented the long night, but she didn’t say anything. She only pressed her lips together and smiled at the young lady.

Kevan butted his head against Sansa. She looked down at the large lion and scratched his mane, before sitting down on the rough stone floor in front of the stature and hugging the lion around his neck, lightly sobbing.

Brienne sat down next to Sansa and wrapped her arm around the young woman’s shoulders. They huddled together as the streams of the dead and dying echoed through the crypt.

-oOo-

Jaime watched in horror as the three large undead elephants crashed through the tree line. The speed of the three beasts was frightening. They raced through the firing range of the trebuchets and crashed into the first investment before the siege weapons had even fired.

Lightning arced over the three huge creatures. Martyn was trying rather unsuccessfully to slow the large beasts down, as burning arrows impaled the undead elephants’ bodies. The beasts seemed to shrug off the wizard’s attacks and the rain of arrows as they continued to ram the earthen barricade. The investment shuddered and collapsed under the strain from the repeated strikes of the large undead elephants. 

The undead Golden Company followed as the large beasts roared through the opening in the contravallation. The wights streamed into the space between the two barricades as a hail of arrows followed them though the gauntlet. 

The Golden Company had broken through the first investment faster than anyone expected. The creatures were not the slow lumbering wights who had previously attacked the castle. These wights had been living men not that long ago and they moved fast. They wore new armor, carried fine steel blades, and they attacked with a vicious streak the older wights didn’t seem to process. 

Much to Jaime’s surprise, arrows rained down on them. The Night King had never used projectile weapons before. He looked out onto the field and saw the line of undead archers. The golden companies archers, Summer Islanders, considered by some as the best archers in the known world. Apparently, they had even kept some of their skill when they had turned. 

The defenders on the watchtowers either fell to the relentless stream of arrows or jumped from the towers to avoid the incoming projectiles. An arrow impaled Jaime’s right shoulder before Bronn pulled him from the tower.

“Why am I always saving your ass? You dumb cunt,” Bronn growled at Jaime and grabbed his arm, pulling him toward Winterfell’s stone fortifications.

When the second investment convulsed and collapsed, the wights streamed inside, and met the vanguard. However, unlike previous attacks, this quickly turned into a slaughter. The Night King had apparently changed his tactics once again. The undead no longer ignored the living. The vanguard was quickly overwhelmed and the defenders who could run, retreated toward Winterfell. The wights quickly tore apart the unlucky ones who couldn’t run.

The scorpions on the towers fired repeatedly, one of the giant undead elephants quaked as it plowed forward, crashing into the retreating vanguard before it collapsed in a heap. Winterfell’s large gate closed only a moment before the remaining two elephants reached the gatehouse and crashed into the thick wooden gate.

From Winterfell’s machicolations, the defenders rained down flaming arrows and burning oil. The second elephant swayed and fell in a burning mass, several wights, who stood too close to the fiery beast, also erupted in a blaze. 

Jaime staggered it to the battlements and signaled to the tall north tower. The horn blew a long high blast, and two large dragons rose from the godswoods. 

The dragons flew over Winterfell and above the wide plain, raining fire down onto the wright archers.

The horn on the north tower echoed through the castle, announcing the arrival of the Night King. Bran was high up in the tower, his eyes travelling in a murder of ravens, had spotted the threat. The echoing blasts warned Daenerys of his approach and she turned her dragons back toward Winterfell. 

Jaime saw the Night King emerge from the tree line on the back of a large war elephant. A second later, a long icy spear flew through the air. Drogon managed to dodge the projectile as he flew back to the relative safety of the godswood.

“That big one is getting pretty dam good at dodging,” Bronn said as the two dragons disappeared from sight. 

The last elephant continued to pound on the gate, which began to crack under the strain. When it collapsed in a hail of splintered wood, the undead Golden Company poured into Winterfell.

-oOo-

The wights washed over the remaining vanguard. The defenders were already outnumbered and their numbers were quickly decreasing. Strongboar, Tormund and the Hound stood in front of the vanguard. The three large men fought vigorously as wave after wave of dead flowed over them. The Hound and Tormund managed to pull themselves away from the deluge. Strongboar didn’t moved fast enough to avoid being knocked down by the undead elephant as it crashed through the vanguard. As the large knight struggled to his feet, the Golden Company surrounded him. Strongboar continued to fight against the undead Golden Company, even as they pulled apart his body.

The undead elephant roared as it continued its path through Winterfell, it charged under the battlements, knocking the supports and collapsing the walkway. The men on the wall fell and were quickly surrounded and slaughtered by the wights.

Arya stood next to Gendry and the young knight Podrick Payne, at the back of the long column of defenders. When the dead crashed through the lines, Gendry pulled on Arya’s arm and shouted. She couldn’t make out what he said over the roar of the battle. Nevertheless, his intent was obvious…run! In the confusion, Arya, Genry and Pod found themselves running through Winterfell chased by several wights. 

They didn’t even notice the dragon lurking behind the gate of the Godswood, until they had passed under the large passageway. The smaller green dragon, Rheagal lumbered into the opening and turned on the wights, the dead disintegrated instantly in a rain of fire. 

Arya pulled on Gendry’s arm, “Come on,” she shouted, “I have an idea.” 

She ran back into the castle, still under heavy assault by the dead. Gendry and Pod looked at each other and sighed, before running after Arya, back into the fray. The next time the three young defenders ran into the godswood, several hundred wights chased after them, and Rheagal was waiting. 

The undead elephant had found the entrance to the crypt and was ramming the heavy stone door. Long dragonglass harpoons shot from the towers and dug deep into the beast’s hide.

-oOo-

Far below Winterfell in the crypts, Sansa and Brienne could hear the screams of the dead and dying. The loud trumpet of the elephant as it trampled through the courtyard, its heavy stomping causing dust to fall from the ceiling onto their head.

The children started to sob, even as the elderly tried to calm them. An elderly woman, whose hands had frozen in claws started to sing an old northern chant to the gods of the wierwoods. 

Kevan stood up and growled at the door, as it began to shudder. Sansa took the vial of poison from her pocket and pulled out the cork, holding it in her hands and she stared at the door.

“Not until you see his eyes,” Brienne reminded her, placing her large hand over Sansa’s and looking into her eyes.

Sansa nodded, but didn’t replace the cork stopper.

Brienne stood and drew Oathkeeper waiting for the door to collapse. The large stone began to crack, the door wouldn’t hold much longer. Suddenly, the pounding on the door stopped and Brienne breathed a sigh of relief. 

An eerie quiet settled over crypt, they could no longer hear the screams or the trumpet of the undead elephant. The only sound was the light sobs of the young children.

They waited for what seemed like hours before Kevan ears perked up and the lion ran to the entrance, whimpering and scratching at the bottom of the large stone door. Brienne followed the lion, put her ear to the stone, and listened. 

A faint howl echoed through the crypt, it was Ghost, Jon’s direwolf. Kevan roared back in response to the large wolf.

Brienne smiled and unlatched the door, Jaime stood in the doorframe holding onto to his right shoulder. When he saw Brienne, he pulled her into his arms, and winced.

“You’re wounded,” she gasped, as she noticed the blood soaked bandage on his right shoulder.

Kevan danced around when he saw Martyn, bumping his head against the old wizard and almost knocking him over.

King Jon rushed in behind the wizard and ran to Sansa.

“Did you…did you drink the poison?” Jon asked in concern as he reached Sansa, gripping her shoulders and looking at the open vial.

“No…no, Martyn said not until I saw his eyes,” Sansa stuttered.

“Thank the gods you listened for once,” Jon sighed in relief, taking the vial from her hands and tossing it aside before pulling her into his arms.

-oOo-

Emmon could only stare blankly, as Ser Lyle Crakehll’s large body blistered and burned in the large funeral pyre, surrounded by the other newly dead that hadn’t survived the attack. First, he had lost his sons, then his wife, and now Strongboar.

Arya Stark appeared next to the old man and took his thin hand, looking up into his distraught eyes. 

“He was your friend?” she asked.

“As hard as it is to believe, yes he was.” Emmon said painfully and turned away from the burning corpses.

Arya tailed the old man, worried he might again try something extreme, “You were a rather odd pair.”

“Yes,” Emmon had to chuckle, “The weak-willed little lord and the big overbearing knight, quite the strange team we made.”

Lord Emmon stopped and stared up into the night sky, filled with ash and snow, which drifted around them.

“When I first learned of the dead marching on the wall, I didn’t know who to turn,” Emmon explained, “Ser Lyle was the Castellan at Riverrun, I was sure he would laugh, but he didn’t. He took my words seriously. He was the first person ever to do so.”

Arya could only nod, and let the old man talk.

“He was my friend,” Emmon continued, looking up at the night sky and the drifting ash, “and my heir, he would have inherited the Twins.”

“What about your children?” Arya asked. Emmon and Genna must have had children. 

“My eldest, Cleos died during the war of the Five Kings,” Emmon sighed, “His wife and their children were killed by Gregor Clegane, the Mountain.”

Arya scowled if the Mountain hadn’t already been on her list, he would be now.

“Lyonal died at the Twins.” Emmon continued, “I begged him not to go, but he ignored me. He wouldn’t listen to his fool of a father.”

Arya looked down not wanting to look at the old lord’s face. For the first time, she felt a tinge of guilt and realized the wider implications of her actions. She didn’t say anything it would only hurt the old man more. 

“Tion fought with the Lannister army and died at the Battle of the Goldroad.” Emmon shuddered, “Burned alive by dragon fire.” 

Emmon looked away and shivered in the chill air. He knew Lyonal and Tion were not really his sons. Genna hadn’t always been faithful during their long marriage. Nevertheless, because they were part of Genna, Emmon had loved all his children. Even though only his oldest, Cleos and his youngest, Walder shared his blood. 

“My little Walder,” Emmon sighed, “We called him Red Walder. He was a squire at Casterly Rock. No one has seen him since the castle fell to the Unsullied. He is probably dead.”

“You can’t know that,” Arya grabbed his arm, “for years, people assumed I was dead.”

The old man smiled down at her, “I am afraid my youngest doesn’t have your strong will to survive.”

“No…don’t you ever give up on him,” Arya looked up at the old lord face, “I promise, after the war, I will find him, and bring him back to you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are Love.


	24. Wedding in the Godswood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The name of the title pretty much says it all, and I suck at summaries.

Chapter Twenty-four  
Wedding in the Godswood

The sky hung heavy in a greenish haze, surrounding Winterfell in a horrid and musky blanket. Braziers placed around the castle drove away some of the chill and brightened the space inside Winterfell.

The village of Winter Town stood abandoned and lost, a frozen ghost town covered in a thick blanket of ice and snow. Also deserted, the Dothraki village and the small Unsullied camp, which lay outside of Winterfell’s tall stone battlements.

The Undead dragon had decimated the Dothraki. The undead Golden Company had continued the task and devastated the rest of the defenders of the living. Even though the castle was crowded, Winterfell’s walls could now house all of the remaining defenders. 

“Are you sure we should be doing this?” Brienne moaned as Sansa fussed around her, “So soon after-”

“A wedding in the Godswood will take everyone’s mind off their troubles.” Sansa replied as she fastened a ribbon of blue pearls into Brienne’s hair.

Brienne smiled weakly as Sansa straightened the long dress of winter white. The bodice of the gown, incrusted with the same small blue pearls. 

“…and If you don’t get married soon,” Arya smirked, “that dress isn’t going to fit.” 

Looking down Brienne ran her hand over her stomach. Brienne knew Arya was right her once flat stomach was beginning to bulge outward. 

“Arya!” Sansa hissed at her sister.

The young woman only shrugged, and jumped off Sansa’s bed, shaking out the long vivid blue maiden cloak, the inside trimmed in dusty pink, the colors of House Tarth. A contented lion lay peacefully under a shower of stars and a warm yellow sun, expertly stitched onto the back of the blue cloak. The design was everything Brienne had imagined in her head when she had tried her hand at embroidery back at Shadowmire.

Sansa helped Brienne with the cloak and arranged the hood so it partly covered Brienne’s head alluringly. 

Sansa and Arya followed Brienne down to the courtyard. Martyn and his large saber-tooth-lion, Kevan waited as Brienne stepped outside into the crisp winter air. 

“You look Beautiful,” Martyn said as he took her arm in his and together they walked through the courtyard. 

“Thank you for standing in for my father,” Brienne smiled at the old wizard.

Martyn patted her hand and a large grin spread across his face. After this wife and children had died, Martyn never believed he would walk a daughter down the aisle. He was thrilled Brienne had asked him to stand in for her father. 

Several of the heavy stones had fell from the walls surrounding the entrance to the Godswood and still lay scattered on the ground. The clusters of rubble forced them to step around as they passed under the stone archway. The walls around the entrance was scared and burned. During the recent battle, Rheagal’s dragon fire had immolated hundreds wights and a large section of the wall. 

Kevan haughtily patted into the Godswood first, his large head high, causing many of the guest to chuckle. Martyn and Brienne followed the Saber-toothed-lion to the large white weirwood tree, which rested majestically in front of a small simmering pool in the center of the grove. Jaime stood next to his brother Tyrion and Uncle Emmon Frey. 

Jaime and Brienne had decided a Northern wedding ceremony, the Seven had never answered their prayers, and maybe the old gods would prove more forthcoming. At first Brienne was concerned the ceremony would bring back unpleasant memories for Lady Sansa. However, the Lady of Winterfell was overjoyed they had decided on a Northern wedding. Two southern nobles marrying in a northern ceremony, Sansa believed it would bring the South and the North together. 

She had also austerely replied, “The Boltons do not own our wedding ceremony, it is time it was reclaimed from those monsters.”

When Martyn and Brienne reached the tree, they stood silently waiting. When the silence grew too uncomfortable, King Jon coughed and looked at Emmon Frey, motioning him forward. The old man, muttered an apology, the southern Lord he had already forgotten his role as a stand in for the father of the groom.

Lord Emmon stepped forward and said, “Who…who comes before the gods…the old gods this night?”

“Brienne of House Tarth, comes to the Godswood to wed, a woman grown and a warrior brave and noble.” Martyn said with a smile, “Who comes to claim her?”

“Jaime of House Lannister,” Jaime stepped forward, and said the lines of the northern ceremony his vivid green eyes never leaving Brienne’s face, partially concealed under the fur-lined hood of her maiden cloak, “Who gives her?”

“Martyn of House Reyne,” Martyn replied crisply, “Lord of Castamere.”

“Lady Brienne,” Lord Emmon said, “Will you take this man?”

Brienne looked into Jaime’s eyes, he held his breath before she said, “I will…take this man.” 

Jaime stepped forward, took her hand. Together they walked to the Weirwood, and knelt before the grand old tree and bowed their heads in a silent prayer to the old gods. They had decided to change the cloaking ceremony slightly. While they still knelt, Tyrion removed Jaime’s and Sansa removed Brienne’s cloak. The chill air or the intensity of the moment caused the couple to tremble slightly as they rose to their feet.

Tyrion handed his brother back the bright red cloak trimmed in black fur, the same lion and stars stitched onto the back as Brienne’s blue and pink cloak, was stitched onto Jaime's bright red cloak. Jaime wrapped the cloak around Brienne’s shoulders, taking her under his protection. 

Their eyes never parted as Sansa handed Brienne her maiden cloak, which she wrapped around Jaime’s shoulder, taking him under her protection. The action would have been shocking, if the people witnessing the ceremony hadn’t known Brienne and Jaime. It seemed somehow right and natural that Jaime and Brienne would both take the other under their protection.

The couple stood facing each other their eyes locked. The fire of the torches reflected in the emeralds and sapphires of their eyes. Jaime raised his hand and cupped Brienne’s cheek, under his light touch he could feel the scar from where Addam Marbrand blade had slices her cheek. The long scar only made her more beautiful in his eyes, it as a visible mark of her courage and bravery.

Brienne raised her hand to cover his, lightly kissing the palm of this hand, her eyes never leaving his. The emerald green eyes that stared into her were of a lion, a mountain lion of the westerlands. She realized, he would always be and had always been her mountain lion, before either of them had known it themselves.

Jaime laced his fingers into the back of Brienne’s hair and yanked her to him, crushing her against his chest. Their hazy breath mingled in the crisp air for only a moment before they pulled together. 

“I Love you,” his voice dropped to a throaty whisper as he pressed his lips to hers.

When they finally pulled apart, Jaime kissed her lightly on her brow, “I love you too,” Brienne whispered against his neck.

Brienne expected Jaime to take her hand and together walk arm in arm out of the godswood. She was unprepared when Jaime picked her up into his arms.

“Jaime!” She squeaked, “Put me down!”

“But…this is how it’s done in the North, wife,” he chuckled and winked at her, “and I’m strong enough.” 

Jaime only made it as far as the entrance of the Godswood before the throbbing in his wounded shoulder cause him to put his new wife down. She took his arm in hers and smiled.

“We will walk together as equals.” Brienne reminded him.

“Always,” Jaime repeated.

Arm and arm as equals Jaime and Brienne walked to the Great Hall for the wedding feast.

-oOo-

**Interlude with Pirates**

The cool breeze fanned through Wally’s reddish-blond hair. The salt in the air stung his piercing green eyes, he had grown used to the sting, and it no longer bothered him. Wally would have been a handsome young man if it weren’t for his slightly crooked noise and the large ears he inherited from his father.

The Valyrian sat at anchor off the coast of Dragonstone, the large war galleon sat low in the waves, its holds filled with dragonglass. Captain Salladhor Saan strolled over to the young apprentice rigger. 

“First time back in Westeros in over a year,” the Lysesne captain said, “have you missed your home?”

Wally shook his head, “There’s nothing left for me here.” 

The boy had been on the ship for over a year, after the crew of the Valyrian found him, dehydrated and almost dead, floating on a small and sinking rowboat on the Sunset Sea.

The lad had shown a natural ability to climb and he had no apparent fear of heights. Wally soon worked his way up from cabin boy to apprentice rigger. 

“Why are we at Dragonstone?” Wally asked looking over at the tall cliffs and the abandoned castle. Several of the crewmembers lurked around the shore, hauling large bags of dragonglass from a cave near a rocky outcrop.

“I heard the Lord of the Twins is buying dragonglass in large quantities.” Salladhor smiled. 

“The…the Twins?” Wally shuddered.

“You know people at the Twins?” the Captain said, eyeing the boy suspiciously.

“No…um…no,” Wally stuttered, “It’s just really far…Isn’t it?” 

“Not if we sail up the Green Fork in one of the smaller crafts. We deliver the goods to the Twins.” The Captain said with a laugh, “and rake in the gold.”

“But…all of Westeros is in a state of civil war.” Wally replied, “Wouldn’t that be dangerous?”

“You Westerosi are a funny people,” the Lysene Pirate chuckled, “you claim to value law and order, yet you are always fighting and bickering.” 

Wally watched as the Captain sauntered away laughing at his own joke. Wally’s feelings were conflicted. Did he want to go home, or stay on the Valyrian? He was not a prisoner. He knew Captain Salladhor would allow him leave if he wished. However, Wally didn’t really want to leave. He was happy on the Valyrian, happier than he had ever been in his entire short life.

A little over a year ago, Wally had been a fourteen-year old squire at Casterly Rock. They called him Red Walder then, to distinguish him from all the other Walder Freys in his family.

If Wally had to name the day, he stopped being Red Walder. It would be the day the Unsullied breached the castle. Young Walder had run up to the battlements of Casterly Rock carrying an armload of arrows. He paused a moment to look out over the high stone battlements. The Unsullied stood in tight ranks in front of the castle. They looked intimidating. He knew he had no reason to be frightened, the walls of Casterly Rock were impregnable. 

The men standing on the battlements didn’t seem worried. They laughed at the army standing below them on the plain and made cruel jokes about cocks. Walder thought the large foreign army looked disciplined and fierce, unlike a Westeros army, comprised mostly of the sons of fishermen and farmers, who couldn’t stand still and milled about the battlefield in barely controlled chaos. The Unsullied were professional soldiers, dreams of returning to their wives and children would not distract these warriors. Walder wondered, _What did the Unsullied dream about?_

“Boy,” Ser Benedict shouted and boxed him on the ear, “stops dawdling, and get back to work.”

Walder nodded, “ yes my lord,” and ran back down to the fletcher to collect more arrows. 

Walder took a shortcut through the sept, he stopped running when he heard the muffled cry. His vivid green eyes grew as large as gold dragon coins as the tall, thin, Unsullied warriors emerged from the sewers. They split the throat of a guard and quietly moved on. The boy ducked behind a tall pillar, holding his breath so the intruders wouldn’t hear him.

He wasn’t that lucky, one of the tall warriors turned hard dark eyes on Walder Frey and raised his spear, the intent on the man’s face was clear as he approached the frightened young squire. Red Walder would die that day. 

As the man swung the spear downward at the young squire, Ser Benedict suddenly appeared and blocked the swift strike. The Unsullied was swift, but Ser Benedict was a skilled and experienced knight. The old knight’s large broadsword impaled the foreign soldier in a single quick thrust and the tall Unsullied warrior gargled blood and fell forward, dead.

As Ser Benedict pulled his sword from the belly of the foreign invader he also dropped to his knees, looking down the old knight saw the long spear emerging from his gut. Blood began to pool in his mouth as he reached down and pulled the long weapon from his stomach and collapsed to the ground.

Walder ran to knight and held Ser Benedict’s head in his lap, “Ser Benedict?”

“…Walder…” the Ser Benedict croaked in a quiet whisper, “…run.”

“No…” Walder shuttered, “I stay and fight.”

The knight closed his eyes and grabbed the boy’s surcoat. With this last breath, Ser Benedict shook his head said in a harsh whisper, “...run boy.”

Walder could hear the screams. The Unsullied had opened the gates, and the process of slaughtering the inhabitants of the castle had already begun. He looked down at the sewer entrance and then back to the fighting. Ser Benedict told his to run, so that is what Red Walder Frey did. The boy crept down into the dark sewer and followed the tunnel to the base of Casterly Rock. He discovered several rowboats moored on the shore. He crawled into one of the boats and rowed away.

The boy had rowed until his arms hurt so badly and he couldn’t move. To make matters worse, the boat had sprung a leak and was slowly sinking. He took off his surcoat, the double sigils of the Frey towers and the Lannister golden lion emblazoned on the front, and stuffed it down into the crack in the bottom of the boat. 

He floated for three days as the bright sun beat down on him and the boat continued to fill with water, although at a slower rate. He had heard never to drink salt water. For days, he resisted the overwhelming urge to drink. Finally, Walder was so thirsty that he didn’t care anymore. The boat would sink soon, and he would die anyway. He reached down and scooped up a handful of salty water, as he brought the water to his lips he looked up and saw the large galleon approaching from the north.

Walder vaguely remembered as the crew of the Valyrian pulled him from the small boat before it sunk beneath the waves. He could barely remembered as they poured fresh water over his parched lips. When the pirates had asked his name, Walder could only croak weakly, “Wal...,”

“Wally?” one of the pirates asked before the boy passed out.

Red Walder preferred the name Wally. He had heard the snickers of men at Casterly Rock when they talked about his family and his grandfather. There was no honor in being a Frey and there was defiantly no glory in being one of many Walders.

Wally soon found he enjoyed life at sea. He enjoyed jumping across the riggings and tying the sails in place. He enjoyed the fresh salty smell of the cool sea. It was far better than the dank smell of the castles he had always lived. Wally enjoyed being free, he enjoyed being a pirate.

The young lord decided it was best to keep his identity a secret, if the crew knew who he really was they would probably try to ransom him to his family or his families enemies. He became just Wally, one of many young boys left homeless and alone after the wars that had raged through the Seven Kingdoms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are love


	25. Marching on the Edge of Prophecies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The War of the Long Night comes to and end.

Chapter Twenty-five  
Marching on the Edge of Prophecies

The heat from the furnace made the forge the warmest place in Winterfell. The open building had become a gathering place for many of Winterfell’s inhabitants, seeking its warmth. If they could ignore the noise, it was a smoothing place.

Bran and Martyn had not come for the warmth. Although Martyn wasn’t complaining, the heat soaked into his old bones. The warmth took away some of pain and stiffness that came more from old age then the cold weather.

The young blacksmith Gendry was busy sanding the large harpoon when Martyn and Bran arrived. The blade was a long solid shard of glossy black dragonglass connected to a weirwood shaft. 

“I’m Sorry, Lord Reyne,” Gendry said, “There just isn’t enough valyrian steel in the castle for the inlay of the design you wanted on the blade.

Martyn nodded, he assumed finding enough valyrian steel for his design might prove a problem. From under his tattered brown cloak, Martyn pulled out his long Maester’s chain. He ran his fingers over the links, including the three forged from valyrian steel. 

“Will this be enough?” Martyn asked, before he handed the chain to Gentry.

Martyn hadn’t worn his Maester’s chain for over forty years. He wasn’t even sure why he had kept the old and tarnished thing. He still had it, only because the Citadel had never officially stripped him of his title. Technically, he was still a Maester, even though he had since married and had fathered two children. He only fled the Citadel in the middle of the night to escape Tywin Lannister’s assassin, who was also his best friend Kevan Lannister. 

“These three links should be enough,” Gendry replied taking the old chain and spreading it across the workbench.

The young blacksmith dug out a hammer and chisel. Martyn winced when he heard the swift clink, as his chain broke apart, as if a section of his soul had also broken apart. Gendry, concentrating on removing the three valyrian steel links, failed to notice the distraught look on the old wizard’s face. 

Bran did notice Martyn’s expression, reached out, and tapped the old man’s hand. The old wizard smiled down at the young man and crossed his arms over his chest. Martyn pressed his lips tight together in a vain attempt to hide his pain.

“I can reattach the chain, even missing three links it’s still longer than most Maester’s chains I’ve seen,” Gendry said finally having noticed the sorrowful expression on the old wizard’s face.

Martyn only shook his head sadly, and didn’t say anything as he walked away slowly, feeling the heavy weight of age and prophecies in his old bones more than ever.

Even though empathy was lost to Bran, he remembered how it felt. He remembered when Maester Luwin had shown him the valyrian steel link on his chain. How his old Maester seemed prouder of that one small link then all the others and Maester Luwin’s chain had been even longer than Martyn’s.

Bran realized having his chain taken apart had hurt the old wizard. Martyn tried to hide his pain. The wizard had never completely left the Citadel behind.

“Can you make three links from dragonglass,” Bran asked the young blacksmith.

“Sure, we just got a large shipment in from the Twins,” Gendry replied, “I should have the chain mended by tonight.”

After the harpoon was finished, Martyn inspected the ancient symbols inlaid onto the glossy dragonglass shard with long thin strands of valyrian steel. For a weapon of destruction, the harpoon was surprisingly beautiful. 

Martyn took the weapon to the Godswood and laid it on the ground before the weirwood tree. The old wizard seemed to go into a trance for several hours, as he muttered ancient spells over the weapon. 

When Martyn finally emerged from the Godswood, he handed the harpoon to his nephew Bronn. Then the old wizard went to his chamber and slept for two days.

-oOo-

The horn on the tall north tower echoed through the halls of Winterfell it had already blown twice. Sansa paused, she had been combing Brienne’s hair, which had grown longer and fell around the tall warrior’s shoulders in light waves. The horn blew for the third time and Sansa gasped and dropped the hairbrush.

Brienne turned and took Sansa’s hands, looking up into the young woman’s eyes. She wanted to be reassuring and tell the young woman everything would be okay. She couldn’t, Brienne hated the danger Martyn and Bran’s plan would place Sansa.

Brienne struggled to her feet. It had recently gotten harder for her to stand up without using the support of an armrest. She hated that she couldn’t guard Sansa anymore. For weeks now, her armor had been getting tighter around her waist, until just over a week ago she could no longer squeeze into the fine blue armor Jaime had given her so long ago.

Ser Podrick ran up to the two women as they exited the keep. “My Lady, Ser Jaime wishes me to escort you to the crypt.”

“No…Ser Podrick,” Brienne answered, “I will stay with Lady Sansa.”

“But My Lady-,” Pod said as he tailed after the two women.

“Brienne,” Sansa said, “you needn’t stay with me.”

Brienne shook her head, “If Martyn’s plan works I will be perfectly safe on the battlements.”

“And if it doesn’t?” Sansa shuddered.

Brienne looked at the young woman and could only think, _Then it doesn’t really matter where I stand._

Brienne took Sansa’s arm as they walked through the courtyard toward Winterfell’s tall stone battlements. She looked up and saw Jaime, Bronn and Jon Snow standing on top of the bastion near the gatehouse. 

Bronn was inspecting one of the large scorpions. They had moved the siege weapon down from the high tower and onto the bastion for the upcoming battle. 

The dead had just begun to emerge from the forest as Brienne and Sansa reached the top of Winterfell’s high walls. 

A motley of dead advanced from the tree line. These were old dead, lumbering and slow. Several undead giants trudged forward their large stone war hammers dragging behind them through the deep snow. Four giant mammoths inched forward on decaying legs. The beasts were larger than the war elephants although not nearly as fast. When the giant mammoths reached the range of the trebuchets, they and the wights surrounding them erupted in a large ball of fire.

One of the giants reached the first investment and swung his hammer in a wide arc, the wall collapsed at the same time as long dragonglass harpoons imbedded into the undead giant’s chest. 

The second barricade was tore apart by the remaining giants, and the dead began to pour through the opening. The vanguard fought valiantly until the dead began to overwhelm them, and the defenders turned to retreat behind Winterfell’s stone walls.

“Where is he?” Jaime growled as he looked across the wide plain, searching the tree line for the Night King.

Jaime looked to the north tower and raised his arm. The horn blew and two dragons emerged from the Godswood. _That should draw that foul monstrosity out from wherever he is hiding,_ Jaime thought. 

Fire rained down on the remaining undead giants and wights as Rheagel and Drogon flew over the battlefield. The plan worked, the horn sounded again as the Night King emerged from the tree line astride a large war elephant. 

A wall of fire met the Night King as he passed through the second investment. The war elephant disintegrated in dragon fire, the Night King merely walked through the wall of flame unaffected. 

The Night King’s head suddenly lurched upward, and his gaze settled onto the dragons flying overhead. Queen Daenerys quickly turned her dragons towards the Godswood. Ser Jaime had warned her not to take any unnecessary risks. 

As the dragon’s disappeared behind the walls of Winterfell, the Night King stopped advancing. He had no reason to remain on the battlefield. If the dragons were not a threat or an opportunity, he preferred to send his wights, to beat upon the walls of Winterfell and only make an appearance when his goal was in sight. 

The Night King stopped, turned, and began to walk back toward the tree line. Several White Walkers that had followed the Night King into the clearing before Winterfell also turned from the castle.

“Take the bait,” Jaime hissed as he learned over the battlement looked down at the Night king. 

Winterfell’s gates opened, and Martyn emerged holding onto Sansa’s arm, she appeared to struggle in his tight grip. Martyn wore a Maester’s robe and his long chain clinked together as they walked through the entrance. Only the three valyrian steel links were missing from his chain, replaced by three heavier links of dragonglass.

The remaining wights stopped advancing and swayed back and forth before their queen. A moment later, the undead parted and the Night King strode forward, his eyes never leaving Sansa’s as he advanced toward his intended queen. 

Sansa shook in Martyn’s tight grip, in a panic, she tried to break his hold, “Not yet,” Martyn whispered softly.

Martyn suddenly crashed his staff into the hard snowpack. Thunder echoed over the plain and a heavy rain began to pour down on the living and the dead. The undead wights collapsed and twitched as chain lightning jumped from one wight to the next. The lightning even affected the White Walkers. They froze as blue lightning flowed over their icy bodies. Not destroyed though, they had only stopped moving.

A thunder of hooves alerted the Night King of the trap a moment too late. He lurched forward, reaching for his queen, even as she rose in the air and into the arms of Ser Addam Marbrand. The handsome knight’s spirited red courser leapt forward and quickly galloped away.

The gate of Winterfell opened, long enough for the knight and lady to ride through, before the heavy wooden gates slammed shut, leaving Martyn alone on the plain facing the Night King. 

A smug smiled emerged on the old wizard’s lips as the Night King stopped and turned his sinister gaze, for the first time, at Martyn. 

“Wizard,” the Night Kings voice was the sound of cracking ice, “This isn’t your fight.”

Martyn shallowed he hadn’t expected a conversation from the icy phantom. 

“This is a battle between ice and fire, you are of the air,” The Night King voiced cracked, “leave now, and the culling will continue.”

Martyn didn’t answer he just slowly began to inch to his left. However, he did wonder, _what did the Night King mean by culling?_

“The living are a disease on this world,” The braking icy voice of the Night King’s raspy voice echoed across the plain, “The living must be culled.” 

“I live…so I guess it is my fight,” Martyn finally breathed out, the fog of his breath rising in the air. 

Martyn continued to slowly inch to his left. The Night King circled along with the old wizard, until he stood between Martyn and Winterfell's tall towers. 

“Everyone you ever loved is dead.” The Night King hoarse voiced rumbled, his cold blue eyes remained on Martyn. 

Up on the tower, Bronn watched the confrontation, “Martyn, get out of there!” the knight hissed, he had a clear shot of the Night King, but Martyn was standing to close.

“Not everyone…” Martyn smiled as he replied to the Night King, and risked a quick glance up to the tower. 

Bronn had loaded the harpoon imbued with magical incantations, and had aimed it at the Night Kings heart. Martyn noticed Bronn hesitate and sighed, his nephew couldn’t hesitate they had just one shot. Martyn realized the problem and closed his eyes.

“Trust your uncle,” Brandon Stark said in a monotone. 

Bronn turned to look at the Three-Eyed-Raven. Tormund had carried the young man up to the bastion and placed him on a wooden box near the scorpion.

“Fuck that…he’s my family,” Bronn scowled at the young Three-Eyed-Raven, trying to reposition the scorpion so the harpoon wouldn’t hit Martyn.

“Your uncle knows what he is doing-,” Bran replied dully.

 _Bronn! Shoot now!_ Martyn’s voice echoed into Bronn’s mind. _Trust me!_

Startled by Martyn’s sudden voice in his head, Bronn pulled the release on the siege weapon. The Harpoon flew through the heavy rain and into the Night King’s back, impaling his dead heart before it reemerged from his chest and continued forward, imbedding into the heart of the last Red Lion of Castamere, Lord Martyn Reyne. 

“Martyn! No!” Bronn yelled and rushed to the edge of the bastion and looked over the battlements down at this uncle.

Martyn’s eyes found his nephews and smiled fondly, before he turned his gaze back to the Night King. 

The Night King stared at Martyn in contempt, before he realized what had just happened. Lightning coursed over Stormbringer and flowed over the valyrian steel symbols imbedded on the dragonglass harpoon. The long harpoon ignited in flames.

The Night King shuddered and reached for Martyn’s throat, hatred spread across the evil apparition’s face. In an explosion of light, the Night King burst in a rain of ice and fire. The remaining wights and White Walkers collapsed along with him.

Martyn, face and hands badly burned, fell to his knees and looked down at the Harpoon sticking out of his chest. The flame had gone out and the long shard of dragonglass had transformed into shimmering rose-colored valyrian steel. The three dragonglass links on his Maester’s chain, had also transformed into valyrian steel. Blood trickled from Martyn’s nose and he coughed up even more blood as he pulled the blade from his chest and tossed it aside before he fell forward, into the melting snow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are love.


	26. Epilogues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Night King is defeated, and people move on with their lives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the last Chapter of ‘Whispers of Winter.’ It has been quite the journey, the Long night is over and Brienne and Jaime have started a family. 
> 
> A few notes;  
> I couldn’t find any mention of Brienne’s mother’s name, It has been years since I read the books, and the internet was no help. I just made up the name Cassandra, because I liked it.  
> Salladhor Saan was called a Tyoshi pirate in chapters 24 and a Lysene pirate in chapter 26. That is my mistake, I thought he was Tyoshi. I will change chapter 24 soon.  
> Part 3 of the story, tentatively called Sorrows of Spring. Will hopefully be coming in a few months, I want to get an outline started and at least a few chapters before I start posting. It will mostly be about the battle against Cersei’s forces in the south. 
> 
> Thank you all for reading Whispers of Winter.

Chapter Twenty-Six  
Epilogues

The waves crashed against the hull of the Valyrian, a heaving mass of salt water. The sea was coarse and ruthless and the galley quaked harshly in its cold embrace.

Wally wasn’t concerned, his firm grip on the riggings were steady and true. A crisp wind blew through Wally’s reddish-blond hair as he looked out over the vast seemingly endless expanse of sea that might frighten a lesser soul. The youthful pirate found it exhilarating, the freedom of the open sky, the clean salty air. 

The large black ship rippled as it came into view on the horizon of the setting sun. The wide black sails with the gold Kraken sigil, made the ship look wider as it raced toward them. The sails of the Iron Fleet emerged over the horizon following the giant ship. Wally shouted a warning down to the deck. Captain Salladhor Saan squinted against the glare of the sun at the convoy of dark ships.

“Greyjoy!” Salladhor Saan yelled at his crew or the approaching ships, Wally couldn’t tell which, “he dares try to out pirate, the King of Pirates!?” 

Wally squinted at the approaching armada, the lead ship, the Silence, Euron Greyjoy’s flagship skimmed menacingly over the waves toward them. A shiver went down his spine. He had heard tales of the infamous captain.

Greyjoy had raided villages all over the coast of Westeros and Essos. He murdered men, women, children, small folk and noble alike, indiscriminately. Wally had even heard Euron Greyjoy had cut the tongues from the crew of the Silence, to keep his secrets.

It was true Salladhor Saan was a pirate, the Lysene captain wouldn’t think twice about attacking another vessel and stealing its cargo and sometimes people died, sometime many people died, depending on the resistance given, but Salladhor Saan wasn’t a murderer, he was an opportunist.

Euron Greyjoy was a murderer and as the Iron Fleet thundered down on them, Wally knew he would soon die.

-oOo-

The two guards stood before the gate of Winterfell, one fat and one thin. Although the weather had already begun to warm, almost immediately after Night King’s demise, the nights were still bitterly could. The guards’ breath rose through the air in wisps of smoke as they huddled near a burning brazier.

“Did you see that?” the thin guard said pointing out to the dark muddy plain.

“See what?” the fat guard said peering into the darkness, before he turned and swatted the thin guard in the chest, “fuck off…you nearly scared me to death.”

The thin guard peered into the darkness, before he sighed and turned back to the brazier burning next to the gate.

After both guards had turned away, several small creatures, Children of the Forest, crept through the open plain. The small creatures appeared to be searching. Finally, one of the little creatures pulled a large weirwood quarterstaff from the muddy ground. 

When the guards turned their gaze back to the plain, the Children of the Forest froze, disappearing into the shadows, only to silently move away when the guards turn again to the warmth of the fire.

It was easy for the small Children of the Forest to slip into the Godswood. Next to Winterfell’s stoic weirwood tree, they found the Three-Eyed-Raven sitting quietly in his wheeled chair, his eyes, shining white orbs. 

The small creatures gently laid the large staff across Brandon Stark’s legs and silently slipped away, back into the shadows.

-oOo-

Brandon Stark walked through the small courtyard of Castamere. The warm summer sun peaked from behind light wispy clouds, casting the castle in a warm summer glow. Bran turned in a circle to witness the commotion happening around him. A smile spread across his face, Castamere had once been a happy place.

_Castamere was also a busy place, servants and retainers rushed through the yard on various errands. The guards stood stoically by the entrance of the keep and next to the gatehouse. Several men-at-arms practiced in the yard, along with two dark haired youths._

_Suddenly a young golden haired page around nine years old rushed passed._

Bran stepped backwards on instinct even though the boy couldn’t see him. 

_The boy suddenly stopped and turned to sneer at the dark haired child who chased after him._

_“Avilynn!” His vivid emerald eyes flashed as he shouted at the young girl, “Stop following me!”_

_“But...Kevan,” eight year old Avilynn Reyne chirped, “play with me…you be the prince…and I will be your princess…you rescue me… and we get married…and-.”_

_“No, no, no,” Kevan Lannister shouted and wrinkled up his nose at the thought of marrying...a girl, “I’m going be a knight of the King’s Guard, I’m not going to marry any stinky old girl.”_

_“I’m not stinky… and you are going to marry me!” Avilynn stomped her foot on the ground and pouted._

Bran chuckled at the exchange between the young versions of Bronn’s parents. He followed Kevan Lannister up a steep flight of stairs to the rookery, carved into the stone, high up on the cliff face.

_A dark haired youth was busy feeding the ravens when Kevan burst to the dusty chamber. Excited and out of breathe Kevan perched on the edge of a table. As he waited for his friend to finish, the young page impatiently kicked his legs back and forth, letting his friend know he had news that couldn’t wait._

Even though the dark haired boy appeared to be only eleven years old, when the he turned around to look at his best friend, Bran recognized him. The boy’s blueish-gray eyes were the same eyes Bran knew. They were the eyes of Martyn Reyne.

_“Well?” Martyn inquired with a laugh, “What is it?”_

_“I heard Lord Reyne tell Ser Reynald that the workers excavating under the keep had found a hidden passageway,” Kevan said his green eyes wide with excitement._

“This is the...the present, when you found the baby wyvern below the castle?” Bran asked.

“Yes,” an aged Martyn Reyne answered as he stepped from the shadows, “these were my happiest memories.”

Bran nodded as he turned to face Martyn, “That is why you picked this…present?”

Martyn nodded and smiled as he looked out the window. 

_Martyn’s sister, Avilynn and his older brothers, Allyn and Corwyn played down in the yard. Corwyn was twirling Avilynn around in a circle. All three of his siblings laughed as Corwyn let the little girl go and she staggered around the courtyard like an old drunk wood witch._

“You are here,” Martyn finally said as he turned to face the Three-Eyed-Raven, “Either to tell me our plan worked, or it has failed and the long night is upon us.”

“It worked,” Bran smiled.

“And…I am dead,” Martyn continued.

Bran nodded and said, “I wonder though… you only found out Bronn was your nephew a short while ago. How could you be sure he loved you?”

“I wasn’t…and it didn’t matter,” Martyn smiled, “people always get that part of the prophecy wrong it wasn’t Azor Ahai love for Nissa Nissa-.”

“It was Nissa Nissa’s love for Azor Ahai that created Lightbringer,” Bran finished the thought. 

Martyn nodded, “the child of my best friend and my sister, who also happened to be my last living relative. I couldn’t not, love him.” 

"The dragonglass harpoon was Lightbringer, remade?" Bran asked, “and the Black Lion…Ser Bronn, is the prince that was promised?” 

“He is one… of two…there are always two. This time the promised heroes were the Black Lion and the Gold Lion,” Martyn answered, “either one could have fulfilled the prophecy.”

“Then Lady Brienne…?” Bran asked, “How? She doesn’t have a lion’s heart.”

“No…Brienne doesn’t, there is someone else,” Martyn replied, “someone who does have a lion’s heart, who deeply loves the Gold Lion.”

“Cersei!” Bran shuddered at the thought of the mad southern queen, “but…Ser Jaime…he hates her.”

“He does now,” Martyn nodded, “but she will always love him, even though that love has destroyed her sanity.”

“We could have killed Queen Cersei and the Night King at the same time,” Bran wondered aloud.

“The queen wasn’t there,” Martyn replied, “and beside-,”

Bran nodded, “Cersei’s love for her twin…is an insane and twisted love, which drove them both to the edge of madness, Ser Jaime managed to escape…just barely.”

“What greater horror might her twisted love have unleashed unto the world?” Martyn replied.

Bran shivered slightly at the thought. The amount of magic that Martyn absorbed during the final battle with the Night King was frightening. That much magical energy flowing into someone as insane as Cersei Lannister, Bran realized it was best not to imagine what might have been unleashed.

They both leaned out the window and watched the activity below them, in the busy courtyard. 

_Young Kevan and Martyn had run down to the courtyard and joined Allyn, Corwyn and Avilynn in a game of tag. Their laughter echoed off the tower and cliff-face, filling the Rookery with the sound of children laughing._

“Is there anything you would like me to pass onto Bronn?” Brandon asked.

“Make sure that he gets my locket, it holds the key to a vast fortune my father hid away in the Iron Bank. There should be enough to rebuild Castamere.” Martyn replied, “Tell him to…to return the Reynes to Castamere.”

“I’ll make sure he knows,” Brandon nodded.

Martyn turned to look into the courtyard, “our part of the story has ended. Your cousin Jon doesn’t need the Three-Eyed-Raven to defeat Queen Cersei.”

“No, he doesn’t,” Bran admitted. 

“You have my staff,” Martyn finally said pulling his eyes away from the happy scene of the children playing and looking into the eyes of Brandon Stark.

Bran shook his head, “We couldn’t find it. It disappeared after the battle.”

“I feel its presence,” Martyn replied and raised his arm, blue lightning crackled in the air and Stormbringer flew into being and snapped into Martyn’s hand, apparently out of thin air. 

Martyn looked at the startled young Three-Eyed-Raven and said, “Stormbringer is yours now.” 

“I’m no wizard,” Bran replied and shook his head. “I wouldn’t know what to do with it.”

“I will always be here,” Martyn chuckled, “where you have placed me, suspended in time. If you have questions, you need only ask.”

“I can’t be a wizard,” Bran said, “I can’t travel the world, like you did, I can’t even walk-.”

Martyn nodded as lightning arced over his staff and slammed into Brandon’s chest, sending the young man flying backwards. Bran could feel the lightning arcing through his body, down his spine and into his legs as he dropped to the stone floor of the Rookery.

A wave of different times and places flooded into Brandon Stark’s mind as he returned to the present. The sting of cold snow beneath Brandon’s hand burned his fingers. He was back in the Godswood, lying in the snow. The large weirwood tree rose stoically behind him. 

Brandon had fallen out of his chair after Martyn, inside the vision, had attacked him. Bran could only think in confusion, _why would Martyn attack me?_

Bran reached out his hand and searched for his chair. Instead, he found Martyn’s staff, lying in the snow next to him. As Bran wrapped his fingers around the weirwood quarterstaff, the world went silent, all the different times and places, which normally flooded Brandon’s mind, disappeared, like smoke on the wind. 

Then Bran felt the pain, so intense he screamed and clutched at his legs, his muscles grown small from idleness throbbed painfully. Bran dropped the staff and the pain stopped, as if it had never existed. His mind again flooded with a thousand other times and places.

Bran tentatively reached for the staff and clutched it tightly as the pain shot through his spine and down his legs. When the pain finally began to ebb, he noticed, or rather felt the wet, icy cold under his legs. As he looked down at his small limbs, the muscles in his right leg constricted violently and his leg twitched. 

It took several attempts. Eventually Bran was able to use the staff as a crutch, and slowly rose, to stand painfully and unsteadily on his own legs.

-oOo-

Bronn and Jaime rode through the broken curtain wall of Castamere at dawn. The early spring sun rose over the cliff-face warming Castamere’s courtyard and melting the thick snowpack.

Jaime looked around the destroyed castle as Bronn pulled his uncles bones from the horse. Scars on the tall cliff-face marked were Tywin Lannister had used trebuchets to hurl huge boulders against the keep. Jaime wondered if the ghosts of Castamere minded his presence.

It had taken a day for Bronn and Jaime to ride from Casterly Rock to Castamere. Jaime felt a little guilty for leaving Brienne behind at his ancestral home, but the birth of their twin girls had left his wife exhausted. 

Johanna and Cassandra named after Jaime and Brienne’s mothers were born healthy and strong just a few days ago. They were not identical twins, Johanna had Jaime’s green eyes and Cassandra had Brienne’s blue eyes. They were both bald, so Jaime didn’t yet know what color hair they would someday have. He hoped they would both have Brienne’s pale blond hair and maybe even her freckles. 

Jaime hadn’t wanted to leave Brienne and the children alone so soon after their birth. However, Brienne had insisted he go with Bronn, Martyn had been a friend to both Brienne and Jaime. 

“Martyn deserves to finally go home,” Brienne had said, “and rest forever in the arms of his family.” 

His new wife had insisted she and the children were safe inside of Casterly Rock. Castamere wasn’t too far and they wouldn’t be gone long.

Bronn looked around the courtyard of his castle. Absentmindedly Bronn grasped the silver locker around his neck, the key to a vast fortune deposited in the Iron Bank by his Grandfather Lord Roger Reyne. The gold he would use to rebuild Castamere.

Even broken Castamere was impressive, corbeled alcoves stood high up on the cliff wall. Old and worn stairs led up to what was once the Rookery and Maester’s chamber. For a moment Bronn thought he saw a shadowy wisp in the window of the Rookery, however when he turned to stare directly at the high cliff-face he couldn’t see anything but the play of light on shadow. 

The two lions stepped around the large stones that littered the courtyard and passed two roaring stone lions that had once guarded the entrance of the keep. One of the lions, cracked in half, its large head partially blocking the entrance. 

Kevan, Martyn’s large saber-tooth-lion, now Bronn’s lion, led the way as they walked into the hall. Old broken tables and benches littered the hall and moldy banners lay in crumpled heaps in the corners. They heard water lapping on stone and followed the sound to the lower hall, still submerged in brackish water. 

When they had reached the lowest step, Bronn knelt down and ran his fingers through the murky water. Ripples spread across the dark water, a small wave returned to break against their feet. 

Bronn heard Jaime gasp and looked up to see a large dragon head emerge from the dark pool.

“Edjiir,” Jaime whispered as the creature swam toward them. He had read about the wyvern in Martyn’s journals, but written words didn’t do the creature justice. The wyvern was somehow oddly terrifying and beautiful at the same time. The large creature looked similar to the dragons of Queen Daenerys, only much smaller and it had fins along its back instead of wings. 

A sorrowful rumble emerged for deep inside the creature’s throat. The wyvern almost seemed to moan in distress as it gently pulled the sack containing Martyn’s bones from Bronn’s hand.

A vision of two young boys one with dark hair and one with golden hair suddenly burst into both Jaime and Bronn’s mind. 

_The two boys laughed as they ran through the courtyard. They raced up worn steps to one of the old corbeled alcoves high on the cliff-face, where they had hidden the baby wyvern from Martyn’s father. When they burst in to the small room, the creature danced around them lowering its head and waving its long tail in the air._

“It’s them,” Bronn whispered and looked at Jaime, he realized his friend and cousin had seen the same vision, “Kevan and Martyn.”

Jaime could only nod as the wyvern’s head submerged below the brackish water, taking Martyn’s bones with him to finally to rest in the arms of his family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are love!

**Author's Note:**

> This was the story I originally started to write before I got distracted by the Last Summer Raina, If you liked my first story don't worry Martyn will return but not for a few chapters. This is basically a Brienne and Jaime story.
> 
> I noticed a couple of typos that made me cringe, so I edited the chapters and tried to catch them all. Typos are weeds, you pull one, and three more appear. I am the Typo Queen, if you spot one just send me a message, and I will try to fix it.  
> As the story advances, I will add more characters as they appear in the story. Very soon, Jaime and Brienne will be running into other people. I can’t put them in ahead of time because I only have a rough outline of what will happen in the story. People have come and gone out of my script, I don’t even know who will make an appearance in the next few chapters


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